


Providence and Beyond

by JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle



Series: Summer and Fall 2015 [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, what happened after the Fourth of July visit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2016-08-06
Packaged: 2018-07-22 15:52:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7444990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle/pseuds/JustLookFrightenedAndScuttle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happened after July 4, 2015. Bitty and Jack continue to Skype and text and make plans for Providence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. July 6-10

**Author's Note:**

> OK, maybe I was going into withdrawal, but I kept thinking about Bitty and Jack and what the rest of their summer would be like. I won't be able to update every day -- I'll aim for once a week -- and daily sections will be shorter, but this is my idea of what happened after Jack went back to Providence.

Monday, July 6: Jack

_I can't believe you left your skates here._

That was the first text that greeted Jack when the plane landed and he turned on his phone.

 _No choice, Bits,_ he wrote back. _We took too long saying goodbye and I was too late to check luggage. Everything else could go carry on._

_BTW, I love you, too._

His phone chimed again before he made it to his car.

 _Hush, you,_ Bitty wrote. _You know I love you all the way to the moon and back. Do you want me to bring your skates when I come? I'll definitely have to check stuff._

Jack smiled at the reference. He'd seen the battered book in Bitty’s room the night before, pushed up into a corner of Bitty's bookcase, almost hidden by the old textbooks and cookbooks and computer paraphernalia stacked in front of it.

He'd been waiting for Bitty to get out of the shower when he pulled it out, recognizing the brown rabbits on the cover as being very similar to Señor Bun, whom Bitty made very sure was on the windowsill, looking at the backyard, every time he and Jack went to bed.

When Bitty came back into the room, clad in his shirsey and boxer briefs and carrying a towel, Jack was sitting on the bed.

“Bitty, guess how much I love you,” he said. Then he had the horrifying thought that Bitty might think Jack was mocking him. He was, he supposed, but it was meant entirely fondly.

“What?” Bitty said, his brows knitting as he looked at Jack's face. “You OK? Oh -- you found that old book. Coach and Mama used to read that to me before bed when I was little. I think I could probably still recite it. ‘Little Nutbrown Hare, who was going to bed, held on tight to Big Nutbrown Hare’s very long ears …”’

As Bitty spoke, he climbed on the bed and curled his body next to Jack’s, and Jack turned to the first page. Bitty read the rest of the story of the big and little nutbrown hares and how much they loved one another, then took the book from Jack's hands, laid it on top of the bookcase and turned out the light. 

Jack put his arm around Bitty and pulled him close. “I love you to the moon and back, too, but I don't think I'm ready to sleep yet.”

The memory accompanied Jack on the walk to his car -- a new Audi Q5 that had been a graduation present of sorts from his parents.

 _Keep the skates there,_ he texted back. _Maybe you can leave them at the rink? I can use them when I come back. I've got others here._

He set the phone on the console and started the car to crank the air conditioner before Bitty responded.

_Karla might bronze them. But I'm sure we can find a safe place. My lunch break is almost over. Talk tonight?_

Jack texted back, _Definitely,_ and pulled out of the garage.

***Note: [This](http://www.guesshowmuchiloveyou.com/us/books/23-guess-how-much-i-love-you-board-book) is the book Jack found in Bitty's room.

 

*******************************************************

 

Tuesday, July 7: Bitty

Bitty was paying today for his playtime over the weekend. He'd had to get up early to mow the softball fields since he couldn't do it Monday before taking Jack to the airport. He should be used to it, but despite Jack's best efforts, he still wasn't a morning person.

Then he had a full day of figure skating camp, with mostly the same girls as the last time. At least they seemed to have worked out their differences. It didn't hurt that Emily was practically skating on air after Jack had complimented her goalkeeping form Friday.

She had been telling Eric that maybe she would give up figure skating for hockey. “I think I like having a team to play with,” she said. “The people are nicer.”

OK, maybe the group dynamics weren’t perfect, Bitty thought, but she wasn't staring at the floor anymore.

“You don't have to choose, especially not now,” Bitty said. “You can do both as long as they don't take so much time that affects other things you need to do.”

He got the pie crust one-man assembly line going that evening to get a start for the weekend, then called up his calendar and the Southwest Airlines website.

He’d planned to work one last farmer’s market and pack his things up on Aug, 1, then fly north on Aug. 2, but the more he thought about it, the more he thought he could really leave on Saturday. If he wasn’t going to the farmer’s market, then he wouldn’t have to bake that week, and he could get everything ready to go in the evenings. Besides, he really didn’t have that much that had to go with him. His laptop and video camera, his hockey bag, clothes. Most everything else stayed at Samwell. 

That meant another full day with Jack. That meant another full night with Jack as well.

That night, when he called Jack, he said, “So, do you think you could pick me up at Logan on Aug. 1? I can change my ticket to come a day early.”

“Of course,” Jack said. “What time?”

“I think I’ll be getting in just after two,” Bitty said. “It’s a little more expensive, but if I took the earlier flight, Mama or Coach would have to get up at 4:30 or so to drive me to the airport, and I still wouldn’t get there until 12:30.”

“Why so long?” Jack asked.

“Because I’d have to change planes in Baltimore,” Bitty said. “It's $164, compared to $203 for the later flight. But I don’t want to make it harder on my parents. I don't want to put you out either, but everything into TF Green is more expensive, and has stops, otherwise I’d fly right to Providence.”

“No, I think that makes sense,” Jack said. “Just text me the details.”

Jack hesitated.

“Wait -- how would you explain flying to Providence to your parents?”

“Oh, I told Mama you said you’d pick me up. I even said I might be in Providence for your birthday,” Bitty said. “I think mama was happy you wouldn't be alone.”

“Umm, I didn't tell them my parents were coming?”

“Jack, you didn't tell me your parents were coming. It's still OK if I'm there?”

“Of course,” Jack said. “I think they want to see you to make sure I'm not making it up to make them happy. They really like you.”

“That's nice,” Bitty said. “I get it though. My parents love you. You’re the kind of son Coach always wanted. I think they’re all in favor of me spending time with you.”

“But they don’t know --”

“I don’t think you’re their idea of a gay guy,” Bitty said. “Maybe I am, but it’s not something we’ve ever talked about.”

 

*******************************************************

 

Wednesday, July 8: Jack

Jack had upped his training regimen when he got back from Madison. The playoffs were over, the draft was over, the Fourth of July was over. Time to get serious.

He was racking the weights when he was done, still going over the conversation with Bitty in his mind. It left him profoundly uncomfortable, and he wasn’t exactly sure why. Maybe the way Bitty had cheerfully said his father would love him more if he was more like Jack? What did that mean? Did Bitty think his parents would rather have a son who failed rather spectacularly, under the glare of TV lights, and needed years to come back, if only he was taller and didn’t bake so much?

Or was it the idea that Jack didn’t fit as a “gay guy”? Jack didn’t know that he was a gay guy. He didn’t seem to be attracted to most men, or most women for that matter, but he was attracted to Bitty.

Or maybe it was that Bitty wasn’t sure how his parents would react if they knew -- for certain -- that he was gay. It seemed like all three of them were willing to keep silent, let the topic of Bitty’s sexuality lurk in the shadowy corners of their household, out of fear of what would happen if they brought in the open. Jack got it; Bitty didn’t want to lose the love of people who read him that book about the bunnies every night. But Jack also saw the way they looked at Bitty, and he was fairly certain Bitty wouldn’t lose their love. They might not be perfect about it -- they might not understand everything -- but Jack thought they would always love their son.

Jack wondered why Bitty thought he wasn’t loveable.

“Zimmermann!” Tater got his attention. “You're back! How was your weekend?”

“Good, Tater, really good,” Jack said. “I got to experience a good old-fashioned Fourth of July. And eat my weight in southern cooking.”

“Fireworks and everything?” Tater asked. “I like fireworks.”

“Yeah, there were fireworks. But we have those for Canada Day too,” Jack said, working to keep his mind on the fireworks displays he'd seen in Montreal as a child. 

“At least you got off the ice for a few days,” Tater said. “You’re making the rest of look like … what's the word? … slackers.”

“Yeah, for the most part,” Jack said.

“I can't believe you found an ice rink in Georgia!”

Jack grinned. “Just talented, I guess.”

 

*******************************************************

 

Thursday, July 9: Bitty

It was only about an hour after Bitty started that he began to wonder whether this was a good thing.

The pies were well in hand for this week, so he’d decided to experiment with a couple of varieties of cookies as well. He’d run the idea past his mother, and she thought theyd sell well. She even offered to wrap them in packages of a half-dozen and tie them with raffia bows. Mama Bittle always liked raffia bows, Bitty reflected.

But while he had the production of three dozen pies, in three varieties each week, down to a science, Bitty was starting from scratch with the cookies. Haha, he heard in his head.

And it wasn’t really from scratch; Bitty was baking oatmeal-chocolate chip cookies and snickerdoodles, which he had been making since before his age reached double-digits, and which he had produced in large quantities for plenty of bake sales over the years.

It was just, now that he thought about it, he’d rather spend any extra time Skyping with Jack, if he could. Before Jack visited, he couldn’t wait to see him. Now, after three days -- and three nights -- with his boyfriend, the anticipation had taken on a different tone. Now he _missed_ Jack, and not just Jack-his-friend-who-listened to-him, not just Jack-his-crush-who-smiled-and-made him-feel-warm, not even just Jack-his-declared-boyfriend-who-kissed-him-and-wanted-to-do-it- again.

No, now he missed Jack, who knew how to make Bitty’s knees weak with his lips and tongue just on Bitty’s neck, Jack who gazed at Bitty in awe, like he was some precious, valuable, beautiful creature; Jack who let himself fall apart in Bitty’s hands and arms, who was so beautiful and so brave and so vulnerable.

“Come on, Bitty, you’ve done what you can. You moved your trip up by a day,” he told himself. “And if you make enough cookies, you can send him some.”

 

*******************************************************

 

Friday, July 10: Jack

Jack had finished up his workout and showered, pulling on a suit and knotting a tie around his neck. Georgia had asked him to attend a lunch meeting with some of the Falconers’ sponsors, and he knew that it was something of a command performance. In his mind, his job should be playing hockey, and that was most of it, of course, but he knew well that the team would count on him to be a solid representative: to conduct himself responsibly, to connect with fans, to be available to sponsors who wanted to rub shoulders with athletes.

Lunch was good, at a seafood restaurant that had plenty of options that fit his nutrition plan. He offered the same stock answers to the same questions over and over again. Yes, he was looking forward to starting his professional hockey career. Yes, he thought the Falconers were going to get better and better. He’d sure like to join his father and get the Zimmermann name on the cup again.

No one asked uncomfortable or prying questions about where he had been for five years, but then, no one asked him why he chose to study history, or what he thought the after-effects of two world wars in three decades had to do with the current situation in Europe, or even how the internationalization of sport would affect the ongoing trend of globalization, and what the pros and cons of athletes playing all over the world were.

By the end, he was sipping his water quietly as the table full of old men (not that old, he corrected, just older than most professional athletes) downed their second or third drinks and talked business.

George had asked him to stop by her office when he was done to share how it went, and he did.

“It was fine, mostly,” he said. “They all want to know the same things. Honestly, some of Bittle’s hockey campers in Georgia asked better questions,” he said.

George smiled and said, “Well, they would, being hockey players and all, right?”

“I guess so,” Jack said. “Although the best of the group was the goalie, a girl who figure skates too. Maybe she’ll play boys in high school. I think she could have a collegiate career, at least.”

“So what you’re saying is that you’re up for deep background scouting on peewee rec teams?” Georgia laughed.

“Not really,” Jack said. “But she did stand out, and I wanted to give her some encouragement.”

“You’re a good egg, Jack Zimmermann,” Georgia said. “Now about this police report you called about. Did anything else come of it?”

“Not that I know of,” Jack said. “Mrs. Bittle heard at church on Sunday that Shawn Clark -- the guy who tried to take the pies --”

“The guy Eric Bittle punched,” Georgia said. 

“He had it coming,” Jack said. “Anyway, he decided to leave town for the rest of the summer.”

“What was that about?” Georgia said. “Not just pies.”

“No,” Jack agreed. “Not just pies. Clark has been harassing Bittle since they were in high school, and I guess things came to a head the weekend before, and Clark was embarrassed when Bittle stood up to him and made him walk away. I think he was trying to catch Bittle alone -- he didn’t know I was in the truck.”

“What does he have against your friend?” Georgia said.

“I think, in his mind, Bittle fits certain stereotypes,” Jack said. “He’s small, he was a figure skater, he bakes, he sings along to Beyonce …”

“Enough,” Georgia said. “I understand. You don’t have to tell me if he’s gay, and I’m not suggesting you limit your association with him. Just be aware that professional athletes who get into physical altercations with members of the public don’t get a lot of sympathy, so use good judgment,”

“I know, George,” Jack said. “Bittle reminded me of that before I could get too involved, too.”

“Smart young man,” Georgia said. “Next time he’s in Providence, bring him around. I’d like to properly meet him.”


	2. July 11-17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mildly NSFW at the end of Wednesday's phone call. If you stop where Bitty asks Jack what he'd like to do, you won't miss any plot.

Saturday, July 11: Bitty

Somehow, the farmer’s market felt warmer when Bitty arrived and started setting up. The greetings from Charlie and John and Mrs. Sullivan weren't any different than they usually were, he didn't think, but they felt different.

They had all heard the things Shawn Clark said about him, and, whether they believed them or not, they still liked him. It felt good.

Bitty opened a couple of packages of cookies and set them out on a plate as samples. 

“Help yourselves, y’all,” he said to his fellow vendors. 

“You should save these for your customers,” Mrs. Sullivan said, biting into a snickerdoodle. 

“I’ve got plenty,” Bitty said. “But you have to tell me what you think.”

He meant it. These people knew their food.

Mrs. Sullivan had something else she wanted to discuss. 

“I heard you had a friend in from school last weekend,” she said. 

Of course she knew. Mrs. Sullivan knew everything, and it wasn't like he'd tried to keep Jack's presence a secret.

“Jack Zimmermann?” she continued. “Bad Bob’s son? What's he like?” 

“Did you want to know about Jack or Bad Bob?” Bitty asked.

“You've met Bad Bob?” Mrs. Sullivan almost squealed. Apparently Bitty's mother wasn't the only fan he had in Georgia. “Bad Bob had a reputation, let me tell you. And so handsome,” she said. “Is Jack good-looking too?”

Bitty was momentarily stymied at how to answer, before inspiration struck.

“Well, the gossip magazine at our school put him on the most beautiful list two years in a row, so, yeah, I think most people would say so,” he said.

“And is he charming? Bad Bob was a ladykiller in his day,” she continued.

Bitty laughed a little ruefully. “He's really intense about hockey,” he said. “I'm pretty sure when we first met he didn't like me much, because he didn't think I'd be good for the team.”

“But you proved him wrong, didn't you?” she said. “And now look at you. A regular David and Jonathan.”

Bitty almost choked on the coffee he had gulped from his travel mug. He decided to respond to the first part of what she said, instead of the last part.

“I don't know if I proved him wrong so much as I got better -- mostly because he made me a sort of special project,” Bitty said. “But we ended up spending a lot of time together, and we got to be friends.”

He took a snap of his now-completed stall and sent it to the team chat and, separately, to Jack.

_Turns out Mrs. Sullivan also had a crush on your dad. She wanted to know all about you._

Jack texted back, _Did you tell her I'm in love with one of my former teammates? The speedy one? That's the most important thing._

Bitty laughed and switched back to the group text.

 _OMG pie!_ Holster said. 

_We miss you so much!_ Ransom chimed in. _And not just for your pies!_

Lardo: _are those snickerdoodles?_

 _Yes on the snickerdoodles,_ Bitty wrote. _Don't worry, I'll make pies for y’all when we get back. And snickerdoodles._

 

*******************************************************

 

Sunday, July 13: Jack

Jack slept in a bit, giving thanks to a merciful God that he lived in Providence and it was still cool enough for a run at 8 a.m.

Sunday was kind of a rest day, so he didn't push himself on the run and settled for a light workout in the building’s gym. Then he got in the car and headed north to Boston to meet Shitty.

“So how was the land of rednecks, brah?” was Shitty's greeting. He leaned over to peer at Jack’s neck. “Get a little sunburned back there?”

“Not really funny, Shitty,” Jack said. “Would you call Bitty a redneck?”

“No, I'd call him a refugee from the land of beer, football and homophobia,” Shitty said. “And country music. Mind you, the first two aren't all bad.”

As though taking his own advice, Shitty ordered a beer. Jack said he'd stick with water.

“Come on, Shits, you know better than to stereotype a whole region like that,” Jack said. “You met Bitty’s mom. She's basically a female version of him, and his dad’s kind of quieter than they are, but he wasn't bad. Most of the people I met were really nice, and his grandma’s great.”

“And yet, our bright, shiny Bitty-boy was afraid -- _afraid --_ to tell me he was gay,” Shitty said. 

“Maybe he just thought you'd be unreasonably judgmental about his family and his hometown?” Jack suggested.

“Nah, brah,” Shitty said. “I think he was afraid the team would beat him up. Which means he probably grew up knowing people who would.”

“Yeah, well,” Jack said. “I met one or two of them too.”

The server came and Shitty ordered a BLT and fries. Jack ordered turkey on whole wheat, with a side salad and fruit.

“Still doing penance for all the pie?” Shitty asked.

“Something like that,” Jack agreed. “He sent me some snickerdoodles. I was going to bring some to share, but there aren't any left.”

“I saw them on the group text. You ate them all? Brah. So how is he really?” Shitty asked. “Some of what he’s said -- some of what you told me -- got me a little worried.”

“I think he's OK,” Jack said. “Now, at least. I thought we might be needing legal help for a minute or two.”

Jack told him about what happened with Shawn Clark -- the confrontations at the farmer’s market and on the roadside -- and about Shawn’s decision to leave town.

“It seems that Bitty's personality -- and his pie -- have charmed his neighbors,” Jack said. “But not enough so he's out down there. Not even to his parents. But he doesn't behave any differently or pretend to like girls or anything. How could they not know?”

Shitty nodded sagaciously.

“Sounds like a hometown version of ‘don't ask, don't tell,’” he said. “Which, as you know, was an utter cop out and never worked very well. But some people think it was a necessary way-station on the path to allowing gays in the military, because by the time they did allow it, everyone knew they were there anyway, and it didn't make any difference.”

“Maybe,” Jack said. “Seems like it would be easier if he'd at least tell his parents -- secrets like that fester -- but it's not my place to say.”

“That it isn't, Jacky-boy,” Shitty agreed. “That it isn't. But I bet it was good for him to see your not-scowling face.”

“I think he had a pretty good time,” Jack said.

 

*******************************************************

 

Monday, July 13: Bitty

Bitty almost heaved a sigh of relief when he realized that it was hockey camp again. He loved figure skating -- he really did -- but when he had figure skaters at camp, he spent more time actually skating, demonstrating moves or serving as a pairs partner or missing skater for synchro. Jack no doubt enjoyed it it, judging from his reaction to the video clips Bitty sent, but it was tiring, especially on Mondays, when he started early on the riding mower and finished late, working up adjustments to choreography and lessons to fit the skaters who showed up that week.

Hockey, on the other hand, meant sending the kids off for laps, demonstrating a few drills, and more or less letting them play. Much easier.

It was even better to have an easy day today because he and Jack had Skyped later than usual the night before. Bitty had told Jack about Sunday dinner -- it had been decided, with Bitty’s encouragement, that someone would bring Moomaw to the family dinner, or bring the family dinner to Moomaw, every Sunday -- and how impressed his relatives were with Jack.

“Moomaw was going on about how handsome you were, at least until she reckoned I was about to just leave the table,” Bitty said. “And Aunt Melanie -- ‘So polite!’’” Bitty mimicked. “‘You wouldn’t even know he was a northerner if he didn’t have that accent.’ I almost didn’t have the heart to tell her you were Canadian, and that wasn’t what most people in Massachusetts sound like.”

“Speaking of impolite northerners,” Jack said, “I had lunch with Shitty today.”

“I don’t know that he’s impolite, exactly,” Bitty said. “Overly enthusiastic? Importunate? Sometimes pedantic? Can be obnoxious?”

“What, are you studying vocabulary flashcards?” Jack said. “First, he wants snickerdoodles.”

“Yes, it must have been right after you left that he texted me. He just said, ‘SNICKERDOODLES!’ in all caps. I’ll get mailing addresses for him and Lardo and send them some.”

“Pretty sure they might be the same place, Bits,” Jack said. “But maybe not officially. Anyway, does it ever bother you when people act like everyone from the south is some kind of Stone Age hillbilly?” 

“Sometimes,” Bitty said. “I guess. I mean, a lot of the stereotypes have a root in reality -- kind of like rude northerners -- and I can’t deny that people in the south tend to be more homophobic than the people I’ve met at Samwell. Some of it is probably ignorance; there are a lot of people who think they’re kind and God-fearing and can say the most awful things about people because it's almost like they don't think those people even exist? Even if they're standing right in front of them. But if they knew, they would at least be polite, and maybe even come around in their thinking. And some people are scared, I guess, of what they don't understand. And some people are plain mean. But a lot of people set a lot of store on being kind and loving their neighbor and being hospitable, and they really mean it.”

“That's what I mean, Bitty, I mean, you're from the south, and so’s your grandma, and a lot of people that I met that don't seem like they'd be judgmental,” Jack said. “And I don't think you're like that despite being from Georgia. It's part of you.”

Bitty was quiet for a moment. “This is the part where you're wondering why I don't just come out,” he finally said, in a flat tone.

“No, Bitty, no,” Jack said. “You know best what's going on and what's safe.”

Jack had almost looked like he was pleading for Bitty not to be angry with him, an Bitty's heart melted a little bit.

“Not always,” Bitty said. “I seem to recall crumpling up on the ice a fair few times when you came toward me, even not wearing pads.”

“Hockey’s different,” Jack said.

“Not really,” Bitty said. “Let's just say I have experience being hurt by athletes who are bigger than me just because they believed I was a gay. They believed I was gay and told me I should enjoy it, them putting their hands on me and pushing me into the lockers or the wall or off my chair. They never left bruises that would show, at least not if I was wearing a shirt, and they never put me in the hospital.”

Jack had gone quiet and pale.

“They never -- it wasn't sexual, was it?” he finally asked. 

“No,” Bitty said. “But they made sure I knew it could be. Or that instead of shoving me into a wall, they could shove me down the stairs and tell everyone I fell. But if I told anyone, I would have had to say it was because they thought I was gay, and that would be too much like admitting it.

“So don’t, Jack. Don’t tell me the people are so nice and if people like you came out and they knew more gay people they would be better.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Jack said. 

Bitty was silent for a moment, but his expression softened.

“I know,” Bitty said finally. “But it’s an argument I’ve had with myself. How can I expect them to be OK with gay people when they don’t think they know any? When ‘the gays’ are this shadowy, mysterious group out to steal their kids? But I can’t do this. Not yet.”

“You don’t have to,” Jack said. “I’m sorry I brought it up. It’s just, Shitty was so … Shitty about it.”

“It’s OK, Jack. I know what you meant,” Bitty had told him. “People hear the Southern accent and expect a certain package of attitudes and opinions, and that’s not necessarily what you get.”

Watching his hockey players scrimmage, Bitty went over the conversation in his mind. Could he tell people? Could he tell Sam? Sam went to Vanderbilt. He had probably encountered gay people. Sam had always seemed to like Bitty. He probably wouldn’t be upset about it. 

If it was just me, Bitty thought, maybe I would. If it was bad, I could leave. But what about my parents? What about my friends? What would they have to put up with? What about Karla? Would the parents of the kids in camp be calling her, demanding to know why she thought someone like me should be in charge of their kids? Bitty looked at the kids skating. Most were 10, 11, 12 years old. Had he known he was gay then? Maybe not when he was 10, although he knew he was different from the other boys. By the time he was 12, definitely. But he’d never said it out loud until he was 18 and a thousand miles away.

Now, less than two years later, look at his life, Bitty thought. He was halfway through college, an award-winning player on a prominent college hockey team, he had a wide following for his vlog and on Twitter, he had essentially started and made money from a small baking business this summer, and most of all, he was in love with -- and loved by -- Jack Zimmermann.

“Sometimes, Mr. Bittle,” he told himself, “You just have to appreciate what you’ve got.”

When the kids headed to the locker room to get their gear off for lunch, Eric pulled his phone from his pocket.

 _Just wanted to let you know I love you,_ he texted Jack. He included a line of heart emojis in different colors.

 

*******************************************************

 

Tuesday, July 14: Jack

Jack skated out and looked at the competition. Some kids just 18, fresh out of juniors; a few in college, some of whom he’d played against; some graduates; some minor-league or international professionals. Poots was there, too, so that was something.

He knew -- he’d been assured -- that attending prospect camp was merely a formality, something that was expected of all players signed to an entry contract. Sure, Jack had a signing bonus, and he’d negotiated for a bit more than the league minimum. But the fact was, he hadn’t yet played an NHL game, unlike several of the minor-league players on the ice with him. All of them wanted to be regulars on the Falconers’ roster this season, to be given next July off while new prospects showed what they could do.

In a way, Jack told himself, it was a relief to have real competition on the ice, a step up in intensity from the optional skates with teammates who were in town.

Jack was sorted into the top grouping and got ready for the scrimmage. He kept his head down when he skated to the center circle for the faceoff, but he could feel the eyes on him and he felt like he could hear the whispers coming from the bench.

None of that was new for Jack. As Bad Bob’s son, people had focused their eyes on him on the ice since he was a squirt. The only place where he’d ever played hockey where his teammates didn’t look at him like that was Samwell, where nearly all his teammates devoted as much or more attention to their studies as to hockey.

He looked up at the opposing center, a player out of Russia, someone who might not actually know Jack’s story. Jack tapped his stick and said, “Let’s go.” The center smiled, and then the game was on.

Jack’s team won 3-1, and Jack had a goal and an assist, much to the delight of Tater and Snowy, who were watching from the tunnel. 

“Having fun with all the baby players?” Snowy asked. 

“Just doing my job,” Jack said, deadpan, like he was answering Pierre McGuire. “We have some fine young players out there and I’m honored to be competing with them.”

Tater looked worried for a moment. “But Jack, didn’t they say you were on the team? You’re much better than them.”

Jack grinned and said, “Not all of them. How ‘bout Poots? He did well. But I think they want to see me against them and them against me. It’s alright, Tater, I’ll make the team.”

Despite that confidence -- and it was real confidence, Jack told himself -- by the time he called Bitty he was second-guessing himself.

“What if I screw up?” Jack said. “What if I lose my spot because I don’t play hard enough?”

Bitty looked at him for a moment. “Jack, honey, we both know that you don’t need to worry about not trying hard enough. What are you really worried about?”

“What if I’m not good enough?” Jack said. “What if I am good enough, but everyone treats me differently? What if they’re all waiting for the pressure to get to me?”

“Then they’ll be waiting an awfully long time,” Bitty said. “You’re a different person now, Jack. Do you have someone in Providence you can call? A therapist or a doctor who can help?”

“Yeah, the team set me up with someone,” Jack said.

“All right, then if it feels like too much, you call them,” Bitty said. “Is it too much now?”

“No, not really,” Jack said. “I’m just afraid it might get to be.”

“Would it help if I told you about Aunt Barbara and the jam disaster?”

“Yes, yes it would,” Jack said.

So Bitty nestled himself back into the pillows and started talking -- a long, convoluted tale that involved the ratio of sugar to pectin and canning temperatures -- while Jack felt himself relax. Bitty kept talking until Jack’s eyelids lowered and then closed. Then Bitty blew a kiss at the camera and disconnected.

 

*******************************************************

 

Wednesday, July 15: Bitty

Bitty settled into his pillows and opened his laptop. Jack was already logged into Skype, so Bitty clicked on his icon to start their call.

“How was camp today?” Jack asked him.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that?” Bitty returned. “Everything going all right?”

“It’s fine,” Jack said. “I mean, even if they hadn’t told me I’d be on the Falconers roster, just from watching the other guys, I know I should be. I don’t want to sound like I’m bragging, but really, Poots and I are better than the other prospects, so I guess they knew what they were doing. Guy said he was pretty sure they wanted us to be there to show some of the younger guys what level they would have to get to, so that made me feel good.”

“Well, that’s good, isn’t it?” Bitty said. “O captain, my captain, continuing to lead by example.”

“Yeah, that’s good,” Jack said. “And most of the guys have been great.”

“Most?” Bitty said. “Are you having problems with anyone?”

“Not really,” Jack said. “I mean, nothing definite enough that I could bring anything up with someone. But I hear from someone that someone else said I was promised a roster spot because of Papa, or that someone else heard that I was using party drugs and that’s why I had to go to rehab -- things like that. It’ll be a thousand times worse when the season starts. It’s just weird after playing with you guys, to have to watch my back in my own locker room.”

“Ugh,” Bitty said. “I bet that’s tough, and you know how unfair it is. No one works harder than you, and if anyone doubts it, they can call me. I’ll witness for you.”

“You’re biased, Bitty,” Jack said.

“I would have said the same thing when you were barely speaking to me,” Bitty said. “I think there were a couple of months when all you said to me were, ‘Get out of bed,’ and, ‘We’re doing it again.’”

“Bitty, you know I feel bad about --”

“Don’t you ever feel bad about the extra practices,” Bitty said. “I wouldn’t be the player I am without that. Granted, you could have worked on being nicer at other times … but you were under a lot of pressure too. I understand.”

“Thanks, Bits. You’re kinder than I deserve,” Jack said.

“Because I passed up the opportunity for some really cheesy lines about wanting to watch your back while you get dressed, and you saying ‘do it again’ in the bedroom?” Bitty smirked, and then his face split into a wide grin when Jack couldn’t help huffing a laugh.

“You know, there are a few things I’d like to do again with you,” Jack said. “And some things I’d like to try.”

Bitty couldn’t help blushing, but he asked anyway.

“What things?”

“What things to try again, or what things to try for the first time?” Jack asked.

“Whichever you want to tell me, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty said, letting his hands start to wander across his chest.

“Well, that first, I guess,” Jack said. “I want to see you like that, in person, again, and be able to reach out and touch you.”

“Anytime,” Bitty said. “I’m very much looking forward to having your hands on me. Where would you touch me?”

“Your chest, first, and then lower. I want to run my hands up your legs, and touch your cock, and hold that sweet little ass in my hands,” Jack said. 

Butty felt himself squirming, and he could see the way Jack was reacting. Jack’s eyes were huge and his hands were moving over himself as well.

“I can’t wait to get my hands on the best hockey butt in North America,” he said. “How many people want that butt, and it’s mine.”

“Yeah, Bits, you’re right,” Jack huffed a softer laugh this time. “My ass is yours.”

 

*******************************************************

 

Thursday, July 16: Jack

Jack spent the morning on the ice at prospect camp again, and managed to enjoy it more today. He had started to see some of the younger guys -- and, to be honest, pretty much everyone at prospect camp was younger -- the way he saw his Samwell teammates, talented players who needed a little coaching and encouragement to get better. They needed someone to set an example, to push them a little, to notice when they tried harder.

When camp ended for the day, he was invited to lunch with three different groups. He politely declined, claiming a prior commitment, and went out with Snowy and Tater and Poots. The conversation turned to the crop of prospects at camp this year, with Jack and Poots weighing in on which ones they thought had a shot this year and which ones needed more seasoning.

They agreed on most everything, as did Tater and Snowy, who had been watching a lot of the action.

“You know, last year at this time, we had no idea that we could get you on the team,” Snowy said. “So here’s to next season, and the one after that, and the one after that.”

Jack smiled, and gulped some water. 

“You guys have been improving every year,” Jack said, somehow managing to sound like a hockey robot again. “I can’t wait to play with you for real.”

“But we’ve got to find you a nickname,” Tater said, turning talk away from the team’s prospects. 

The muscles in Jack’s jaw relaxed, and he answered in a voice that had never been heard in a TV interview, “Not gonna happen, Tater,” Jack said. “Many have tried, but no nickname has ever stuck.”

“Don’t worry,” Tater said. “We’ll keep trying. We'll get there.”

After lunch, Jack drove home, but instead of going upstairs, he went for a walk, taking more pictures on his phone for Bitty. He picked up some fish and vegetables for dinner, and went upstairs to cook and watch a History Channel documentary and wait for it to be time to talk to Bitty.

He knew that most people would say he was a hard worker, getting ready for his first NHL season, trying to help the prospects along, adjusting to living on his own in a new city. But Bitty was working so much harder than he was, working with the kids at skating camp, baking for the farmer’s market and for special orders, helping with the mowing at the high school, helping his parents, visiting his Moomaw, even keeping in shape for his upcoming hockey season.

And the things that Jack liked about himself as a leader -- showing the way by example, not screaming at his team, noticing improvement, encouraging effort -- those were all things he learned from Bitty, he thought. He would have been a far different captain without Bitty on his teams. It struck him that Bitty -- with his pies and his smile and his fast feet and soft hands -- had arrived at Samwell at just the right time for him.

When they talked that night, Jack started by saying, “I really need to thank you, Bitty. You really helped me become so much better.”

“Once again,” Bitty said, “isn’t that something I should be saying to you?”

 

*******************************************************

 

Friday, July 17: Bitty

With a slightly smaller group at camp this week, Bitty and Sam both got to play in the end-of-week scrimmage with Seth officiating. They divided the rest of the skaters as usual, older kids against one another and younger kids against one another, with Bitty and Sam on the ice --with helmets and gloves, but no pads, and not taking shots on goal -- for the whole time.

At the end of the hour, Bitty was exhausted. 

“What are you skating so hard out there for?” Sam asked as they changed out of their skates in the coaches’ locker room. “I mean, it’s clear you can skate rings around me -- you always could -- and you’re not competing against the kids. What do you have to prove?”

Bitty’s face colored a little. He knew he hadn’t really tried to go hard, but he had outskated everyone on the ice -- including Sam. 

“I’m sorry, Sam, I didn’t mean to show you up or anything,” he said.

“No worries, Eric. Like I said, it’s not like it was a real competition,” Sam said. “But it was like you were determined to skate as hard as you could the whole time. This about Jack Zimmermann being here? Because he wasn’t here today.”

Bitty thought about how to explain it. It wasn’t as though he thought he had a phantom Jack looking over his shoulder that he had to impress. But it was about Jack in a way, because Jack always demanded full effort from every member of the team, whether it was a game, practice or even just conditioning. From himself, he demanded even more, Bitty knew. 

“I guess I’m just so used to having to go full-tilt that nothing else feels natural any more,” Bitty said. “I wasn’t really pushing, but I’m not used to slowing it down too much.”

He wondered briefly what it was like for Jack teaching him to take a check, skating at him practically at a walking pace, helping him overcome an obstacle that he knew would have kept him off most college hockey teams..

“If we do this again, I’ll slow it down,” Bitty said.

“”Nah, you don’t have to,” Sam said. “Did you see the way the kids were looking at you? I don’t think they knew anything could move that fast on ice. I wish I could see you play sometime.”

“We don’t play much in the south,” Bitty said. “But you’d be more than welcome to come up for one of the games. You could stay in the Haus -- it’s like a frat house for hockey players, so it is kind of gross most of the time, but I maintain a decent kitchen.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Bitty regretted them. He could probably convince his Hausmates to not say anything about him being gay just for a weekend if Sam visited -- they had kept mum when Mama was helping him move last fall -- but pretty much everyone Bitty knew at Samwell knew he was gay. He’d gone on dates with guys, he’d bemoaned his lack of dates with guys to Lardo and her art friends and to study groups and ... what if someone asked Sam if he was Bitty’s boyfriend? 

But Sam was already saying, “I’d like that. I’ve never been to New England. Maybe if you have a few hours we could go to Boston?”

Bitty laughed nervously, because if circumstances were different, that could be Sam asking him on a date. Which he wasn’t. But still.

Well, maybe he could put Sam off a little bit.

“I should warn you,” Bitty said. “People up there are a little different. There’s some real characters on the team, and some of them can be a little overbearing.” That’s for you, Shitty, Bitty thought. 

“That’s all right,” Sam said. “I’m sure I can deal. Every hockey team’s got its characters, doesn’t it?”

“And, well, Samwell is known for being one of the most LGBTQ-friendly schools in the country, so not everyone is straight,” Bitty said. “Even on the team.”

“So?” Sam said. “You think I have a problem with gay people?”

“I’m not meaning to offend you, really,” Bitty said. “It’s just, when I first got there, it was a little … eye-opening.”

Bitty still remembered the first time he’d seen two boys making out outside his residence hall. It had been all he could do not to stare -- not in disgust, but wonder.

“Not everyone here’s a cretin,” Sam said. 

“I know,” Bitty said. “Believe me, I have that conversation with people at Samwell, too.”

Sam smiled. “You’re just a regular cross-cultural ambassador, aren’t you?”

“If you still want to come, I’ll send you the hockey schedule as soon as I get it,” Bitty said. “If it works out, maybe we could catch one of Jack’s games in Providence, too.”

That night, when he talked to Jack, Bitty explained what happened. “If he comes to Samwell, I think I’ll have to come out to him,” Bitty said. 

“You could just not send him the schedule,” Jack said. “People don’t always do what they say, and most of the time they don’t even mean anything by it.”

“It’s not like he put me on the spot or anything,” Bitty said. “I actually offered. It was my hospitality getting away from me, I guess. But if anyone I know from here would be OK with it -- outside my family, I mean -- I think it would be Sam.”

“It’s up to you, Bitty,” Jack said. “If he comes, and the calendar works, I’d be happy to get you tickets and be your friend for the night -- although I’ll miss my boyfriend.”

“Me too,” Bitty said. “I miss you now. I love you.”

“I love you too, Bitty,” Jack said. “All the way to the moon. And back.”


	3. July 18-24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little NSFW at the end of Friday's entry. Not very explicit, or long.

Saturday, July 18: Jack

Jack pounded through Providence, enjoying the relative cool of the early morning, once again wondering at the forces of scheduling that made his lightest days Bitty’s busiest. 

That wasn't really true, he knew. Bitty was busy almost every day, between working at camp, baking, selling his pies and family and church time on Sundays. The problem was that while Jack spent hours every day training, on ice and off, there was only so much time you could work your muscles and get any benefit from it. The meetings he had to attend -- with the team, with sponsors, with his own advisors -- only took a few hours a week, which left Jack more unscheduled time than he really liked. 

No wonder so many young athletes developed an addiction to video games, or sometimes to things that weren't as harmless. It reminded him a bit of the time he spent at home following rehab, but then he lived with his parents and felt accountable to them. Now, if he was accountable to anyone, it was Bitty, who was selling his (truly phenomenal) pies a thousand miles away.

When Bitty texted his usual selfie in front of his table that morning, he'd added, _You should be getting a care package today. Can you be on the lookout, or do you have a doorman?_

 _Small building, no doorman, but my downstairs neighbor is usually home,_ Jack responded. _If the package is small, they usually leave it in the lobby. Snickerdoodles?_

There was a wait before Bitty responded. He must have had customers, Jack thought. 

Then his phone chimed. _Snickerdoodles went to Lardo and Shitty. Peanut butter oat chocolate chip. Just a little protein ;-)_

Well, if Jack couldn’t actually spend the day with Bitty, he decided, he’d do the next best thing: he’d send him more photos, pictures of his Providence, things that he enjoyed, and things that reminded him of Bitty.

Once he was cleaned up from his workout, Jack plotted a route on on his phone. Some of it he would have have to drive -- he was pretty sure he could get into rink today, even without advanc notice -- but included all of his favorite places, from the practice ice to the high-end market that had a whole aisle of different kinds of flour. He planned shots along his favorite running routes, near Westminster Arcade, the coffee shop near his home. When he came back in, there was indeed a box for him on the table by the mailboxes. He brought it upstairs and included it in a shot of the kitchen, then took a couple of the bedroom for good measure. It was similar to the photos he’d sent earlier, but he thought it was more personal, showed a growing familiarity and affection for his new city. After spending time in Madison, seeing it through Bitty’s eyes, he wanted to do something like that here.

He ate two cookies while he edited the photos and put them in order, then sent the slideshow to Bitty. _Wish you were here._

It was getting close to time for their Skype date when Bitty texted back, _Looking forward to it, Mr. Zimmermann. But these pictures are missing something._

Jack texted back, _What?_

Bitty’s response was immediate. _You._

*******************************************************

Sunday, July 19:Bitty

Bitty couldn’t stop touching up the decorations on the cake he had made for his cousin’s daughter’s christening.

Little Hannah -- the first member of the next generation of Bittles -- had made her appearance in the world barely a month before, far too new to make it to the Fourth of July party. Michael and Jamie were proud and exhausted and overwhelmed, and Bitty’s mother had volunteered his services to provide desserts. She and the other aunts catered the lunch with a variety of cold meats and salads and casseroles,

Bitty had thought about doing individual petits fours for the guests, but eventually decided one cake to decorate seemed less ambitious, and probably more impressive. In addition to the cake -- delicately flavored with lemon, filled with strawberry, covered in white buttercream with sugared pink daisies -- there were also pies, and trays of cookies. He arranged everything on the dessert table, took several photos and some video for his vlog, and waited for the hungry hordes to descend.

Bitty spent the early part of the party hovering over his desserts, trading tips and sharing recipe ideas with his aunts and cousins -- the female ones at least. The male ones seemed to not quite know what to say, beyond “How’s it going, Eric? Excellent cake!”

Bitty thought about making an effort. He could talk sports with the best of them. Some days, he even liked it. But today, not so much.

So he answered, “Hey, Peter. Yeah, the cake was kind of a challenge for me. I do more pies.”

“S’all good, bro.”

Once most people had their food, Bitty got himself a plate and sat in the kitchen, next to Moomaw.

“Happy to see a new generation in the family, Moomaw?” Bitty asked.

“It’s a blessing,” Moomaw said. “Each child is a gift, and I do enjoy having the whole family get together.”

Bitty ate his dinner and idly watched as relatives passed through the room. “Tell me about your Jack’s family,” Moomaw said. “I understand his father was a hockey player. He have any brothers or sisters?”

“No, ma’am,” Bitty said. “His dad’s a real famous hockey player, and his mom was a model and actress. He has a bunch of people he calls his uncles, but most of them are old teammates of his dad.”

“Are they good people?”

“His hockey uncles? I’ve never met them,” Bitty said. “But from what I know about his parents, yeah, they really are. I know they love Jack, and Jack says they like me.”

“That’s real good,” she said. “Let me give you one word of advice, young man. Don’t try to make your own wedding cake.”

Bitty nearly choked, just as Coach dropped into one of the other kitchen chairs.

“You all right there, Junior?” he asked.

“‘M fine,” Bitty gasped. 

“I was just telling Dicky here that when he gets married, he shouldn’t make his own cake, no matter how good of a baker he is,” Moomaw said. “Because he’ll be marrying the person he loves, and that’s more important than whether the icing is smudged or the crumb is dry.”

“Pie,” Bitty finally said. “I can make wedding pie.”

*******************************************************

Monday, July 20: Jack 

Jack teed off and tried to think cool thoughts as he waited for Poots to take his shot. This wasn't what Rhode Island was supposed to be like, he thought. Humid and hot, with temperatures in the mid-90s and thunderstorms expected in the late afternoon? That was Georgia weather.

“Hot enough?” Poots asked as he and Jack strolled down the fairway. “You have cold water? I have an extra bottle in my bag of you want it.”

“Nah, I'm good,” Jack said. “I have water.”

“It got this hot in Hamilton sometimes, but never often enough to get used to it,” Poots said. “Man, I'm glad hockey's an indoor sport.”

“Yeah, when I was in Georgia over the Fourth of July, walking outside from the rink was like going into a sauna,” Jack said.

The split up to play their own balls, meeting again on the green a few minutes later. 

“Wait a minute,” Poots said. “Weren't you visiting a friend from college? And you found a rink to practice? You're insane.”

Jack sunk his putt for par and said, “College teammate. And he was working at a kids’ hockey camp, so I went to visit. Maybe establish a Falconers fan base there or something.”

“That's cool,” Poots said. “So what's it like, having people all over know you? I mean, last year, I signed some things for the rink where I started playing, after I played in the AHL. But the only reason anybody knew my name was I grew up there.”

Jack thought for a moment as they walked to the next tee box.

“Not as much fun as you might think,” he said. “I mean, it's probably different for guys who get the recognition for, you know, playing. But my parents were celebrities when I was growing up in Montreal, and there would always be people around with cameras. And I was an awkward kid, at least off the ice.”

“But you were a great player in juniors, right?” Poots faltered, realizing Jack had never told him that. “I mean, at least, that's what I read.”

Jack teed off again, and admired his own shot. It wasn't great, by any objective golf standard, but it was relatively straight and landed on the fairway. Better than he would have thought, given the conversation. 

“You mean what you found when you Googled me?” Jack said, then took pity on Poots as they set off down the fairway. “It's OK. Everybody does. My friend in Georgia? His grandma told me at the Fourth of July picnic that she Googled me. Or someone else did and read everything to her.”

“Dude, that sucks. I can’t imagine having everyone and their literal grandmother knowing things I’d rather keep private,” Poots said.

You don’t know the half of it, Jack thought.

To Poots, he said, “I don’t know what I would be like if I didn’t have people watching me, waiting for me to fail. I think anxiety’s just part of me. But it didn't help that I felt like if I wasn’t the absolute best, there was really no point.”

“No point to hockey?”

“No point to me,” Jack said. “Don't get me wrong -- I knew my parents would love me, because they were supposed to. But I don't think I gave them as much credit as I should have. Anyway, going to rehab, going to college -- I hated it when it happened, but it turned out to be really good for me.”

Jack looked around, took his hat off, wiped the sweat from his face, put it back on.

“I don't think I really answered your question. I think it's like this: the cameras and the attention can be fun, as long as they only capture things you want to share. But everybody has things they don't want to share, and eventually, some of those things are going to come out.”

Poots lined up his shot before answering.

“Like if I have a girlfriend?” he asked.

“Maybe,” Jack said. “Not that there's anything wrong with that. But maybe she doesn't want her picture all over the place. Or maybe you have one too many at a bar one night and act a little silly, don’t do anything really wrong, just looks embarrassing, and someone takes a video on a phone. Most guys, 21 or 22, that's just what they do, and no one cares.”

They walked to the next hole, and Poots seemed to be deciding whether to ask the next question.

“So why'd you come back to hockey, then?” he finally asked. “You have a college degree. You could do something else. I mean, it's not like your parents would cut you off if you didn't find a job right away.”

“Because I love hockey,” Jack said. “And I'm good at it. But now I know that there's more out there for me. I know I'll have a life after hockey.”

*******************************************************

Tuesday, July 21: Bitty 

“Coach Eric?” 

Olivia was looking at him expectantly. 

“Yes, Olivia?” Eric asked, tying his skates.

“Why did you go from figure skating to hockey?” she asked. “I mean, I watched some of your routines on YouTube, and you were really good.”

Oh, bless her heart, Eric thought. Is this what it felt like to be Jack, to have people trawling through your past? 

“Not that good, sweetheart,” was what he said. 

“But you were the junior regional champion,” she said.

“I was,” Bitty said. “But I was getting to the age where I should have been thinking about moving to seniors, if I thought I'd have a serious career, and I would have had to move away from home and give up just about everything else to do that, and for what? I probably was the best in Georgia, and if I put the work in, I could probably have been the best in the southeast. But the best in the U.S.? The best in the world? Even if I had the talent -- to be the best in a big pond like that, it means a lot of work,and giving up a lot.I don't know if I had the drive or desire.”

“But why hockey?” Amelia picked up where Olivia left off. “Figure skating is beautiful and graceful, and hockey … isn't. I mean, I've seen them hit each other.”

“Well, that's not really my favorite part,” Eric said. “But I like being part of a team, working together, and I'm a better skater than a lot of hockey players. Besides, I still figure skate. I'm here, aren’t I?” 

He thought about what Jack had told him last night, about his conversation with Poots. He talked about things Bitty had never dared to ask him, because he didn't want Jack to think it mattered to him, or that he was just being nosy. But of course it mattered to him. Everything about Jack mattered, not to judge him or look down on him, just to understand him and know how to help and support him.

Bitty wondered how he would have handled the attention if he had ended up being one of figure skating’s stars. Would he have been able to come out as gay? Anywhere? Even if he didn’t, would everyone have assumed it? 

What would his relationship with his parents be like if he'd lived away for most of high school? With the rest of his family?

College -- where, and when -- would have depended on his training schedule. He almost certainly wouldn't have ended up at Samwell, and definitely wouldn't have found a family on the hockey team and a home in the Haus. Would he have ever even met Jack?

Maybe he could have handled the spotlight, he thought, and maybe not. He was better than most people at keeping things to himself, if he did say so himself. But he would never have traded the life he had now for that life.

“Listen, guys,” Bitty finally said. “You don't have to be the best skaters in the world to love it and have fun and even look good doing it. We have our last show of the summer Friday. Let's get out there and practice.”

*******************************************************

Wednesday, July 22: Jack 

Jack settled into the chair in front of Georgia and prepared to go over his weekly schedule.

There was another sponsor lunch tomorrow, and she was hoping he could be available to join Snowy and Tater on a visit to Hasbro Children’s Hospital.

“We can easily have a sweater ready for you by this weekend,” she said.

“Sure, um, I’m happy to go,” Jack said. “But what do we do when we visit there? I mean, can they play?”

“You do what they can do,” George said. “Usually they’ll get some of the kids who are old enough and feeling well enough to be out of bed in an activity room, and you just figure out kind of what they’re doing and play along. There are people there who will help you. But most of the kids who are in the hospital are either really young or really sick, or both. So when you visit in their rooms, you say hi to the parents, you give them some of the Falconers swag we’ll send with you, you get in a picture with them if they want it. It’s not hard.”

“Seeing kids too sick to get out of bed isn’t hard?” Jack asked.

Georgia sighed. “That’s not what I meant, Jack Zimmermann, and you know it. Just go and smile for the camera -- we’ll have a videographer tag along to get some footage for the website and try to make someone’s day better. Think you can handle it?”

“Sure,” Jack said, but the whole idea made him nervous. What if he said something wrong and made a kid cry? Or got overwhelmed and started crying himself?

“Jack,” George said, “you can do this. I wouldn’t ask you to go if I thought you didn’t care.”

“OK,” Jack said. “I can do this.”

“Right. So we were looking at either this Saturday or next Saturday. Snowy and Tater are available either day. Do you have a preference?”

Jack called up his calendar and said, “This Saturday works. A friend -- well, two friends -- are supposed to come down from Boston, but they can come later in the day. They’re staying over until Sunday anyway. Next Saturday -- that’s the first? -- I think I have to be in Boston to pick up Eric Bittle. He’s going to spend a few days here before he has to go get ready for his season.”

“This Saturday it is, then,” Georgia said. “You know, I’ve heard that people called you a hockey robot, that you didn’t make friends, that you didn’t have fun. But you seem to have a pretty good group around you, and I hear you’re spending time with some of our players too. That’s really good, Jack. I’m happy for you.”

“Me too, George,” Jack said. “Me too.”

“And don’t forget, I want you to bring Bittle around,” George said. “He can give us an honest critique of our social media strategy.”

“Um, OK. What’s your favorite kind of pie?”

“Pie? Bllueberry I think. Why do you want to know that?” George asked.

“Because Bittle will want to know. Trust me.”

*******************************************************

Thursday, July 23: Bitty

Coach came into the kitchen and put his iced tea glass in the sink while Bitty worked, bouncing to his music as he moved around, pulling three pies out of the oven and putting another three in. If he could get the fruit pies done tonight, then he’d finish up some cream pies tomorrow. He wanted to have an extra half-dozen at least to sell; word had gotten out at the market that Saturday would be his last day, and several of the other vendors had said they’d be sure to buy pies from him.

Coach stood, hips resting against the edge of the sink, and watched Bitty for a few minutes. Once Bitty had everything situated -- new pies in the oven, hot pies on the cooling rack -- he looked at his father and wondered what he had missed.

“Did you need me to do something?” he asked. “I thought the lawn looked OK, but I could cut it tomorrow --”

“The grass doesn’t need cutting,” Coach said. “Been so dry lately it’s hardly growing.”

Coach stopped talking again. Bitty looked at him.

“OK,” Bitty said. “Well, uh, what did you need?”

“Just wanted to talk to you a little bit, Junior,” Coach said. “It’s OK. I can see you’re itching to keep going.” He nodded at the counter with its baking mess in front of Bitty, “You can keep at it.”

“Thanks,” Bitty said, pulling two disks of dough from the refrigerator. “It’s just, I like to have the next set ready when those come out. Get done faster that way.”

Well, that was stupidly obvious, Bitty thought, but he felt calmer as he rolled one disk into a circle on the floured marble block, pushing the rolling pin from the center to the edges over and over. When it was done, he carefully folded it around the rolling pin to transfer it to the waiting pie tin. Then he rolled the second disk out before cutting it into strips to make the lattice top.

Coach watched for a few minutes.

“What I wanted to say is I’m awful proud of you,” Coach said. “I know sometimes I’ve been hard on you, and sometimes I don’t say it enough. But you’ve grown up into a fine man, Junior. You work as hard as anyone I’ve ever seen, whether it’s this baking or with the kids at camp or even hockey. I know you’ve been working on your conditioning. And you’re still taking the time to help your Moomaw, and you’ve almost never got a nasty word to say about anyone. I couldn’t ask for a better son.”

Bitty’s hands had stilled. “But?”

“No ‘but,’” Coach said. “Can’t a father tell his son he’s proud? Even the way you handled Shawn Clark -- and I am gonna have a word with Mark, because I’d want someone to tell me if one of my players was doing that -- I wish I’da known before.”

“I know, you think I should have said something,” Bitty said. 

“I’m sorry that you felt you couldn’t,” Coach said. “But no, I think I understand why you didn’t. That’s the other thing I wanted to say. You’re mama’s told me that Samwell is different from here, but people are people. I want you to try to stay safe. That’s the most important thing. If something like this happens again, say something. Tell your mama or me and we’ll do whatever we can to help, or tell a coach, or tell someone on your team.”

“It is different there, and my team and I, we all have each other’s backs,” Bitty said. “I’ll be fine, really.”

“OK, Junior, if you say so,” Coach said. “Remember, Mama and I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Bitty said. “I’d give you a hug, but --” he raised his flour-covered hands.

“Not necessary, Junior,” Coach said, and headed upstairs.

*******************************************************

Friday, July 24: Jack

Jack called his father.

“I know I don’t say it enough, Papa, but thank you for everything,” he said. “Thank you for always supporting me and loving me, even when I screwed up.”

Even when I almost died, he thought.

His father was silent on the phone for a moment, and Jack would have bet his father was thinking the same thing..

“Jack, are you all right?” he finally asked. “I mean, of course I love you and support you, and while I appreciate the thought, you really don’t have to thank me.”

“No, I’m fine, Papa,” Jack said. “Really. It’s just that Bitty -- Bittle -- told me his dad told him he was proud of him, and how it was really awkward, because he’s never said anything like that before, and I think he always thought his father was disappointed in him.”

“Why would Eric’s father be disappointed?” Papa asked. “He’s a wonderful boy.”

“Yes, but I think Coach Bittle -- Eric’s father -- always expected his son would play football, and maybe not bake so much?” Jack said. “Maybe date a cute cheerleader? A girl cheerleader?”

“Ah,” Papa said. “I get it. Did Eric tell his parents then?”

“No, Papa, and his father didn’t say anything about it,” Jack said. “Just that he’s proud of how hard he works, and that he’s, well, loving and kind. It sort of threw him for a loop.”

“I guess I can see how that might, given how you started this call,” Papa said, and then laughed.

“Yeah, I get it,” Jack said. “Just, I wanted to tell you that I’ve never felt that you weren’t proud of me. Even when I didn’t think you should be.”

“Jack, _mon coeur_ , you’ve always been more than deserving of every bit of pride I’ve ever had in you,” Papa said.

 _“Merci,”_ Jack said.

That night, when Jack called, he told Bitty about his call to his father.

“Bitty, I just want to make this clear: Even if you weren't my boyfriend -- even if you were just a teammate --- I'd still be proud to be associated with you,” Jack said. “You are so brave and so strong, and I think sometimes people take it for granted that you know that.”

“Strong, says the NHL player who’s put on at least 10 pounds since May, all of it muscle?” Bitty chirped.

So that's the way it was going to be, Jack thought, taking in the image of Bitty smirking and biting his lip, his bare shoulders and chest golden against the sheets. 

“That's not what I meant and you know it,” Jack said. “But if you want to go there, yes, physically strong and muscular, too. Do you ever actually look at yourself?”

“Seems to me you've wondered just why anyone has to spend so long in front of a mirror,” Bitty laughed.

“Not checking out your clothes or fixing your hair,” Jack said. “I mean you. You're smaller than me, sure, but you can see the muscles move in your chest and shoulders.”

And it was true. With the physicality of baking and his conditioning as an athlete, Bitty had superb upper- and lower-body strength, even if it seemed like he sometimes dressed to hide it. Naked on his bed, Jack could see the shadow between his pecs, the angle of the trapezius leading from his neck to the bulge of his deltoid as, the curve of his biceps. It didn't take a big effort to imagine the rest: the glint of fine golden hair on his forearms, ropy with veins, and on his compact powerful thighs.

The way that hair gathered and thickened at his groin, making a nest for the sweetest cock Jack had ever seen.

The tight ass that Jack couldn't wait to get his hands on again. 

“You know the best thing about how hot it is in Georgia?” Jack asked. “You wear those little shorts every day. It was all I could do not to just follow along behind you and stare. Are you wearing those shorts now?”

Bitty swallowed and shook his head no. 

“Are you wearing anything?” Jack asked. 

Bitty shook his head again. 

“Can I see?” Jack said. “I keep thinking of you like that on your bed.”

“If I can see too,” Bitty said.

Jack stood to slide his boxer briefs down while the picture of Bitty bounced and moved and finally settled with wider angle, Bitty’s midsection clearly visible while his face was cut off. Jack knew Bitty was getting a similar image.

“Together?” Jack said, stroking his erection.

“Uh-huh,” Bitty said, settling one hand on his shaft, the other cupping his balls.

It didn't take long.

When he could speak normally, Jack said, “You should also know that I think you’re really, really hot.”

“Same here, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty said. “Same here.”


	4. July 25-31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW section at the end of Thursday's Skype call; stop reading where Jack asks Bitty to take his shirt off if you want skip it, and start again with Friday.

Saturday, July 25: Bitty

Bitty was just about done packing up when Mrs. Sullivan got his attention.

“You’re not to go anywhere just yet, young man,” she said.

“What?” Bitty asked. “I’m sold out, Mrs. Sulluvan. Time for me to head out.”

“Oh, no, it’s not,” she said. She looked around quickly, making sure that the other vendors were busy before beckoning him over and whispering. “It’s supposed to be a surprise. There’s a little lunch for you when the market closes at noon. Everybody brought something.”

“You should have told me!” Bitty said.

“Shhh!” Mrs. Sullivan interjected.

Bitty lowered his voice. “I could have brought dessert at least.”

“You’re not the only one in this town that can make desserts, I’ll have you know,” Mrs. Sullivan said. “Besides, I think we’ll be seeing at least a couple of those pies that you sold today.”

“Y’all didn’t have to buy them!” Bitty said.

“Eric Bittle, the people at this market know how hard you’ve been working,” she said. “They know you’re trying to make money to go to that Yankee school of yours. They also know that this market got more traffic this summer than it has in the last five years, and one of the biggest differences was you being here. They want to celebrate you and give you a nice send-off, and you will be gracious and accept it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bitty said, his face pink. “I guess maybe I’ll see what people have for sale, see if I can get anything for Mama.”

Bitty walked back to his table to finish stowing his supplies in the now-empty cooler, texting Jack on the way. 

_Looks like I’m at the market another hour or so. They’re having a surprise lunch for me. Hope things are going OK there. I’ll text you when I’m leaving._

To his mother he texted: _Got some time to kill. Need anything from here?_

His mother’s response -- _Just get whatever looks best,_ with no question about the delay _\--_ confirmed that she knew about the plan. Mrs. Sullivan probably checked his schedule with her.

Once his table was cleared, Bitty wandered the booths, picking up a couple of cantaloupes, two bundles of spinach, some zucchini and late tomatoes. He put those in the cooler, too, then tried to look busy on his phone until Charlie called him over.

“Eric, it was supposed to be a surprise” -- Charlie shot a pretend-glare at Mrs. Sullivan -- “but there’s a picnic lunch on the tables back there. We’d be pleased if you’d join us.”

“The pleasure’s all mine,” Bitty said.

The lunch was delicious. These people really did know their food, Bitty thought, taking a second helping of creamy spinach pasta and another of three-bean salad. The table indeed had two of his pies -- one peach and one banana cream -- and several of Mrs. Sullivan’s jam tarts. 

Before they cut into the pies, Charlie stepped forward with a gift bag that contained a set of silicone spatulas and spoons, two new silpats, and a pie-shaped kitchen timer.

“It’s not much, but we wanted you to know we liked having you around,” he said.

Bitty gripped the gift bag, smiled and hoped everyone would blame the flush on his face on the sun.

“I don’t know what to say to y’all,” he said. “This isn’t something I ever expected. It’s always been a dream of mine to be able to make money baking, maybe even make a living with it somehow, and this summer I proved to myself that I could do it, that it’s not just a pipe dream. And y’all have been so welcoming and so helpful. I really, really can’t imagine how this summer would have gone without you here. If there’s ever anything I can do to help you, you have my phone number and my email address.”

“Come back next summer,” Charlie said. “We’ve had more people come for your pies and end up buying from other people too -- you’re good for business.”

“We’ll see,” Bitty said. “I really don’t know what my plans for next summer are, but if I come back to Madison, I’ll definitely be here.”

**********************************

Sunday, July 26: Jack

Jack let himself back into his condo after seeing Lardo and Shitty off, closed the door, and leaned back against it.

He closed his eyes and sighed, glad to have seen his friends, and glad to be alone again.

Having them there for the weekend -- especially arriving, as they did, just when he got back from visiting the hospital -- brought back how jarring it had been for him to move first into the residence hall at Samwell, and then, even more, into the Haus.

Until then, he’d always had, always valued, his privacy. Even though he sometimes appeared in paparazzi pictures as a child, his parents had made sure their home was a safe haven. Even when he went to live in a billet house in the Q, he always had his own room, always made sure he could take time by himself. He would study, he would read, he would stare at the ceiling and try to make sense of what he was supposed to be doing.

Then Kenny happened, and he wasn’t alone so much, and he knew how well that turned out. Rehab was a weird mixture of being alone -- for hours, days, weeks on end it felt like -- but also feeling like he was being picked at and probed and watched. Home was better, but he was at loose ends so much of the time, with Maman and Papa wanting to do know what he had done every day while he was out. Moving to Samwell had felt like freedom, until Shitty burst into his room two hours after he moved in and announced that he was going to hug him.

Jack hadn’t quite known what to do with that -- with Shitty and his aggressively platonic cuddles, Johnson and his strange pronouncements, Lardo and her observant eyes, even Ransom and Holster and the way they just fit into the team and their relationship like they were pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. But by the time junior year came, Jack had found a new kind of freedom, a freedom that came from people who loved him, people who both respected and pushed his boundaries. It was a life he had never known he could have.

Then Bitty happened, and Jack had been thrown into confusion again, and had almost let someone so wonderful slip away. 

Bitty. Jack should call Bitty. He’d hardly been able to talk with him the night before, making a quick Skype call at midnight on his phone, from his bed, after he had told Lardo and Shitty he really had to get some sleep. Bitty had tried to look like he was wide awake, but he had clearly been sleeping with the laptop next to his pillow when the call came in, and Jack had apologized for disturbing him.

“Don’t you ever apologize for wanting to talk to me, Jack,” Bitty had said. “I love you. I miss you. I want to see you and know you’re all right.”

“All right, Bitty,” Jack said. “I love you too. Sleep well, _mon lapin._ We can talk more tomorrow.”

As Jack walked through the condo, picking up a few stray dishes and straightening the cushions on the couch, he wondered whether it was odd that he didn’t feel crowded at all by the need to call Bitty -- and that’s what it was, a need, not an obligation.

 _Can you talk now?_ Jack said.

 _Sure,_ Bitty said. _Coach just took Moomaw home._

Jack was a little disappointed to see that Bitty was still dressed in a button-down when his image appeared on the screen. The tie, at least, was gone, and the top button was open.

“So how was the hospital?” Bitty asked. “How were Shitty and Lardo?”

“The hospital was … a hospital full of sick kids,” Jack said. “The kids we could play with were great. The ones that were too sick, well, that was sad, but the worst was the parents. I mean, they tried to be polite to us, shook our hands, smiled, but they all had this look. Their eyes looked haunted, almost, like no matter what happened next, their worst fear had already happened. They were standing there talking to hockey players and their kids were lying there, sick and in pain and they couldn’t do anything but thank us for stopping by.”

“God, Jack, I’m sorry,” Bitty said. “That must have been awful.”

“It was, a little, and it wasn’t,” Jack said. “I mean, I think we did some good for the kids who were up and around. Broke up the day, maybe. And maybe we distracted some of the others, you know? But I couldn’t help thinking about my parents, and waking up in the hospital and seeing them there, and how now I could understand the expression on their faces. Only I did it to myself, and I wasn’t a kid.”

“Stop right there, Jack,” Bitty said. “Stop now. First, you were a kid. You were so young, and you were carrying so much pressure, so many expectations. And you were sick. You didn’t want that to happen. You didn’t do it to hurt your folks, I know you didn’t, Jack.”

“No,” Jack said. “I didn’t mean for it to happen at all. I just kind of lost control of everything.”

“And then you got help,” Bitty said. “And you got better, and you found resources to help you cope when you can’t control everything. Jack. You didn’t want any of what happened before to happen, and you’ve tried so hard to get to where you are. I admire that so much.”

“Thanks, Bits,” Jack said after a moment. “That means a lot.”

“Did you talk about it with Lardo and Shitty?” Bitty asked.

“Not really,” Jack said. “Didn’t want to spoil the mood, y’know? I mean, I’m pretty sure Lardo realized I wasn’t in the best mood when they got here, but fake it ‘til you make it, and all that. We ended up having fun.”

“So are they, like, together?”

“I really can’t tell you,” Jack said. “I mean, they shared the bed in the guest room? And stripped the sheets and remade the bed when they got up. But that might have just been Lardo being a polite guest. I didn’t see any more overt displays of affection than before. I don’t know. I know Shitty’s going to the cape with his family in early August, then moving into Cambridge, and he seemed bummed that he wouldn’t be seeing so much of her.”

“So he won’t be in Providence for your birthday?” Bitty asked.

“No,” Jack said. “It didn’t even come up.”

It had come up that Bitty would be there, and Shitty had given him an odd look. Jack wasn’t sure what it meant.

“Well, I don’t want to say I’m glad, but I’m not sure how well I could pretend we were just friends again,” Bitty said. “I mean, I know I’ll have to. But I’m kind of glad it won’t happen yet.”

“Me too, Bitty,” Jack said. “I’m counting on a birthday kiss.”

“I think you can count on more than that,” Bitty said. 

***********************************

Monday, July 27: Bitty

Bitty pulled his phone from the bag on the bench before changing his warm-up pants for shorts for his lunchtime workout. There was a missed call and a voicemail from Shitty.

He pressed play and put his phone on speaker while he changed.

“Bitty, brah, Jack told me you’re coming back early. I wish I would have known. I could have made arrangements to pick you up and get out of a day of family togetherness. You need something, though, you call me, all right? I'll find a way to get there if you need me too.”

Bitty puzzled over the call while he got the treadmill up to speed, angled at a mild incline, and put his earbuds in. Surely, if Jack mentioned Bitty would be there for his birthday, he would know Jack was picking him up? It didn't seem like an odd thing to share; friends visited one another, and even fetched each other from airports, didn't they?

Once Bitty’s muscles were warm and his heart was beating at a quick, steady tempo, he stepped off the treadmill and did a round of weights. He rinsed off in the locker room shower and grabbed his phone and his sandwich.

“Hey, Shitty,” he said, pausing to take a bite. “Got your message. Jack’s picking me up, so no need to worry about me. Talk to you soon!”

Sam, who’d joined Bitty at the table, raised an eyebrow. “Shitty?”

“I told you there were some characters on my team,” Bitty said. “Well, he's not anymore. On the team, I mean. He graduated this year, but he’ll still be around Boston. He’s going to law school at Harvard.”

“With a name like that? How’d he get that for a nickname?”

“I honestly have no idea,” Bitty said. “My first day meeting the team, that’s how he introduced himself. Nobody on the team even knows what his real first name is. Starts with a B, though. My mother calls him Mr. Crappy.”

“I think that might be worse,” Sam said.

“Anyway, he was a women’s and gender studies major, and he made sure everybody on the team had a clear understanding of, and I quote, ‘how fucked up heteronormativity and traditionally assigned gender roles and identity” are,” Bitty said. “He also brewed up this stuff, called it ‘tub juice,’ that got more people drunk, and he liked to walk around naked and cuddle everybody in a strictly platonic way.”

Sam was looking at Bitty like he wasn’t sure he believed him.

“And he’s one of my best friends,” Bitty said.

“He plays hockey?” Sam asked. 

“He did,” Bitty said. “He also lived across the hall from me in the Haus. He left his dibs -- his room -- to Lardo, our manager.”

“What’s he like?”

“She. She’s the only one on the team who’s smaller than me, but everyone listens to her. She’s an amazing artist.”

She’s on the team?”

“She might not skate, but believe me, she’s as important to the team as anyone,” Bitty said. “I mean, she keeps everything organized and everyone on track, but she’s also just really observant -- I don’t know, wise, maybe? -- about people and how they’re doing and what they need. I swear she and Jack had whole conversations without saying a word.”

“And she’s a girl living in a house full of hockey players? Is that safe?”

Bitty’s jaw nearly dropped. The idea that any member of SMH could possibly pose any threat to Lardo had truly never crossed his mind.

“Yeah,” Bitty said. “I’d pity anyone who tried anything with Lardo that she didn’t want. And that’s before any hockey players got to them.”

“So who else is living there next year? You and -- Lardo, did you say her name is? -- and who else?”

“The two captains. Ransom and Holster. They play D together and are weirdly in sync in just about everything. And they know everybody on campus and at least 40 percent of the students at most of the colleges around us. They run the parties and try to make sure everyone has a date for any and all special occasions. Then across the hall in Jack’s old room is Chowder, our starting goalie. He’ll be a sophomore. No one else lives in the Haus, but the rest of the team kind of wanders in and out a lot.”

“Sounds cool,” Sam said. “I would like to see y’all play. Did you mean when you said I could visit?” 

“Of course,” Bitty said. “I mean, we won’t have Jack Zimmermann anymore. But we should do OK.”

“Hey, you’re leaving this weekend, right? Want to maybe get together for a beer or something after camp this week?”

“You mean like at one of our houses?” Bitty said. “Because I ain’t legal.”

“Sure. You can come by my house. My dad doesn’t mind if I take a couple of bottles.”

“Sounds good, then,” Bitty said. “Any day but Wednesday.”

“Thursday, then?”

“Sure,” Bitty said. “I’ll come by after supper.”

**************************

Tuesday, July 28: Jack

Jack sat across the table from Tina in the small conference room and pushed his phone over to her.

Then he had a sudden impulse to grab it back.

He remembered that there were photos on there that weren't fit for anyone -- especially not the Falconers PR team -- to see. Well, maybe there was nothing really wrong with any individual photo; there wasn't anything truly scandalous about a shirtless boy smiling at the camera, especially when he clearly had just been swimming. But there were so many, all of the same boy. Tina would definitely get the wrong -- or really the right -- idea, and Jack wasn't ready for that.

Tina was opening the Instagram app on his phone, not the photos he had stored.

“Do you mind if I have a look at what you've posted?” she asked. “And at the likes and comments? I want to see who’s interacting with you the most, and whether there are any problems we need to look at.”

“No, that's fine,” Jack said. 

Most of his Samwell teammates, including Bitty, liked or commented on nearly everything, but Bitty kept any comments of a personal nature off Instagram. Jack also had attracted a following of some photography blogs, lots of hockey fans (his picture of his parents in Falconers gear was the most popular yet) and even a few Falcs and other NHL players. 

“It looks like Kent Parson engages with a lot of your posts,” Tina said in a neutral tone.

She knew, Jack thought. Of course she knew, not exactly what happened, but that there was a history. It was her job to know.

He realized he'd waited too long before responding when she said, more gently, “Are you OK with that?”

“Why shouldn’t he comment?” Jack said, honestly curious. His Instagram was public, and nothing Parse said was out of line. Well, maybe, “Your parents would look better in Aces swag,” but only if the person reading it knew that Kent had tried to get him to sign there.

“Well, people might read into it,” Tina said. “They might think there’s more going in than there is, or more than you want people to know about?”

“With Parse?” Jack snorted. “I haven’t talked to him since what, before Christmas?”

“So you couldn’t call and just ask him to tone it down?” 

“I could -- I mean, I’m pretty sure I still have his number -- but he’s probably just poking at me for fun,” Jack said. “What’s that thing Bittle told me? Don’t feed the trolls?”

“If you say so,” Tina said. “Just be aware people might ask you about him.”

“That’s all right,” Jack said. “We were close friends a few years ago, before ... before our lives took different directions, and we still keep in touch occasionally.”

“Perfect,” Tina said.

Jack gave her a quizzical look.

“If anybody asks,” she said. “That’s how you answer.”

“It’s the truth,” Jack said. Maybe not the whole truth, he amended silently, but they had never been in love or anything like that. 

“All right,” Tina said. “Got anything to run past me for this week?”

“I got this picture of Poots yesterday, after he poured water over his head when we were playing golf,” Jack said. “He said it’d be OK if I posted it.”

“Great!” Tina said. “Next time, you should get in the picture too.”

His phone chimed with a text from Lardo. It was a picture of Shitty, wearing nothing but very tiny American flag speedos, posing like a starlet on the beach. He hit the button to lock the phone, but he was pretty sure Tina saw it.

“So, me in more pictures?” Jack said.

Tina just looked at him and nodded.

Jack said, “You said you wanted to meet Bittle? If you’re here next week, I’ll bring him with me. He’s visiting for a few days before he heads back to school.”

“Sure!” Tina said. “Maybe we can cooperate on some things. He’d agree about you being in the picture, I bet.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Jack said. “What’s your favorite kind of pie?”

*******************************

Wednesday, July 29: Bitty

Bitty sat back in the kitchen chair, a slice of his honey peach pie in front of him.

Moomaw sat across from him, tasting a bite of the pie carefully.

“Yes, the honey does add a different taste, and the cinnamon is good,” she said. “Have you tried it with nutmeg? It might cut the sweetness a little more.”

“I haven’t,” Bitty said. “But Ransom -- Justin, I mean, the one who likes this pie best? -- doesn’t really object to the sweetness.”

“Well, it is delicious just the way you made it,” Moomaw said. “I just can’t help playing around with recipes.”

“I know what you mean,” Bitty grinned. “I do the same thing. Maybe I’ll make two for the team and see which one they like best.”

“You like your team, then?” Moomaw said. “I must admit, I wasn’t sure about you playing hockey. When I watch it on the television, it seems awfully rough.”

Bitty shrugged.

“It can be,” he said. “But I don’t exactly hit a lot of people. That’s not my role. And I’m fast enough that I don’t get hit very often either.”

“But you do get hit sometimes,” she said. “You had a concussion last spring. Some of those boys are so big.”

“I know, Moomaw,” Bitty said. “And it can be rough, and sometimes, if someone wants to check you, you can’t avoid it. But most of the time, I love playing. I love the speed and the way it feels to connect on a pass or get the puck in the net. I love the way it feels when I can do something that boosts the whole team’s spirits. I guess I like being part of it all. I mean in a game -- not baking a pie.”

“I just want you to be safe, Dicky,” she said. “I’m not saying you shouldn’t play. Just take as much care as you can.”

“I do, Moomaw,” Bitty said. “Jack’s actually worked really hard to get me to take a check properly, which is much safer.”

“Then listen to your boyfriend,” she said.

Bitty felt himself blush. “I never thought I’d hear that from you,” he said. “But thank you.”

“I’m getting to be an old lady,” Moomaw said. “And as the Bible said, there’s nothing new under the sun. Just be good to each other. Don’t ever stay with someone who’s not good to you, Dicky, and don’t stay with someone that you can’t be good to. You deserve better.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bitty said.

“Now, your Aunt Barbara read me some things off the Internet about your Jack,” Moomaw said. “But from what you told me and what I saw, I don’t believe half of what she said. I think your Jack is someone who maybe needs some extra kindness, though, because I’m guessing there are a lot of people who are unkind to him. Seems like he might not be overly kind to himself, either.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bitty said again.

“Now, you, Dicky, you have kindness to spare,” she said. “Seeing you is like like seeing the sun on a spring day. You just have a warmth that you can’t help spreading around to everyone who takes the time to notice it. People who don’t, who are too wrapped up in trying to put other people down to build themselves up, well, it’s like they’ve locked themselves in a freezer just to keep themselves from enjoying the glow. And you’re not to pay them any more mind than that.”

“I try not to, Moomaw, but --” 

“But you want to make everyone comfortable and happy,” she said. “And that’s good, but if people don’t want it, you can’t make them take it. Just lavish it on the people who want it and need it. You should see the way Jack looked at you when he was here -- like a flower to the sun, he was. He needs to soak you up, and you need him, too. You need someone who will value your heart for the treasure it is.”

“Well, Moomaw, if that’s the way I am, I got it from you,” Bitty said. “Or you and Mama, maybe.”

“Don’t discount your father, Dicky,” Moomaw said. “He’s a good man, if I do say so myself. He doesn’t like to talk so much -- at least, if it’s not about football -- but he’s always tried to do what’s right.”

“He told me the other night that he’s proud of me,” Bitty said. “I wasn’t quite sure how to take it.”

“Of course he’s proud of you,” Moomaw said. “He’s always been proud of you, the way you’ve been just yourself, even when it was hard, even when people didn’t understand you, how hard you worked at figure skating, and then hockey, how you had the courage to move so far away to do what you wanted to do. You’ve done us all proud, Dicky, and you should know that.”

“Thanks, Moomaw,” Bitty said. “I’m gonna miss you, you know.”

“But you’re leaving earlier this year to spend some time with Jack?” she said, fixing him with a knowing eye.

“Yes, ma’am,” Bitty said. “But I didn’t exactly explain it that way to Mama and Coach.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t tell,” she said. “But I suspect, from now on, you’ll be spending more of your school breaks up north and less time here. That’s as it should be, if your life is going that way. But that might be what made your father speak up. He feels like he’s losing you a bit, not in a bad way, mind you. But he and your mother both love you very much, and they know you’re not likely to end up moving in down the street from them.”

Bitty set his fork down on his empty plate.

“No, probably not,” Bitty said. “But this will always be my hometown. I’ll keep coming back to visit as long as y’all will have me.”

****************

Thursday, July 30: Jack

Jack was impatient waiting to talk to Bitty.

He’d had a good day, good workouts, a good skate with the players that were around. He was pretty sure Tina thought there was something going on with him and Shitty -- she had asked if he had plans to see any friends besides Bitty this weekend with a different tone in her voice. But she hadn’t pursued the topic when he said, “Just my parents for my birthday on Monday.”

“Your birthday’s Monday? We’ll have to send out a happy birthday tweet! Make sure you like it.”

Then she’d continued on her way to corner Poots about something.

Bitty had been available to Skype earlier in the evening this week since he wasn’t baking for the market, which meant they had more time -- not that Jack was getting to bed earlier. But tonight Bitty was out with his friend Sam, and that made Jack uncomfortable. He wasn’t exactly jealous, he told himself. He didn’t think anything would happen beyond two friends talking, maybe getting to know each other a little better. But Sam was taking up time Bitty should be spending with him. Of course Bitty should be able to spend time with other people. But when Jack asked about the kind of questions Bitty said he should ask to get to know Poots, if they were too much like flirting, hadn’t Bitty said, “It’s all a matter of degree”? How far would this little chat go?

Jack shook his head, a little ashamed. Bitty talked to people who weren’t him all the time at Samwell. Attractive men, even. Attractive gay men and bisexual men. None of whom could know Jack was Bitty’s boyfriend. OK, he told himself, not the best thing to think about right now.

He jumped when his phone lit up with a text.

_Ready to Skype?_

Jack opened his laptop and logged in.

Instead of a shirtless Bitty reclining against his pillows, he got Bitty in a tank top and gym shorts, throwing clothes into a big duffle bag on his bed.

“I came home and realized I’m leaving Saturday morning and I haven’t even started packing,” Bitty explained. “So I figured I could at least throw some clothes in my bag. Most of the stuff I can’t pack until later anyway.”

“You? Procrastinate? I can hardly believe it,” Jack said, trying to get a good look at Bitty’s face. His cheeks might have been a little pink, but he wasn’t unusually flushed. Not drunk, then. “How was Sam’s?”

“It was fine,” Bitty said, turning away to zip the bag and toss it on the floor. “I think he wants to be friends and he felt like he should apologize.”

“Apologize? For what?” Jack said as Bitty turned to sit on the bed and pulled his laptop closer. “I thought you liked him. He never --”

“No, Jack, he never pushed me or hit me or even said mean things to me,” Bitty said. “I was honestly a little confused, too, because I always felt like we got along well enough at the rink.”

“So what was it?” Jack said.

“He said he felt bad that we were just hockey friends,” Bitty said. “We never really talked at school, except maybe to say hi or ask when practice was.”

“OK,” Jack said. “And?”

“And he knew what was going on with the other boys,” Bitty said. “I mean, not like every single time something happened, but some of it. And he felt like he should have spent more time hanging out with me.”

Jack could see that. Teammates should have each other’s backs, and Sam hadn’t had Bitty’s. Jack had liked him before; maybe he’d have to reevaluate. “Sounds like he’s right,” Jack said.

“Oh, Jack, it’s not that simple, really,” Bitty said. “I’d’ve been shocked if anyone tried to take my side like that. You saw Sam -- he’s bigger than me, but not by much. And it wasn’t like it was ever Shawn by himself coming after me. If Sam had tried to protect me, he’d just be bullied too. They’d’ve called him gay just because we were friends. And if he tried to fight back, it just would have been worse. For both of us.”

Jack wanted to say that shouldn’t matter, that friends should stand up for each other, but he took a breath. It wasn’t his place to act like he knew better than Bitty about his own life. It had taken Shawn Clark acting out against not just Bitty, but also a girl, in front of a market full of adults with cell phones for anyone to take his harassment seriously, he reminded himself.

“So what did you tell him?” Jack asked.

“That no apology was necessary, that we were kids and maybe didn’t always know what to do, and the friendship we had on the ice helped make things at school more bearable,” Bitty said. “I could look forward to seeing the team when I had a bad day.”

“I’m glad you had that,” Jack said. “I used to look forward to getting on the ice when I had a bad day, too, but not so much for the people. For me, it’s always been a place where I know what’s expected of me. I know what to do, and even if I fail, I know I tried my best.”

“And you usually don’t fail,” Bitty said. “Y’know, hockey’s different for me now. Not as much of a refuge, I guess.”

“Because of the checking, you mean?” Jack said.

“Not really that, although you know how hard that was for me to get used to,” Bitty said. “More that I don’t need it that way anymore. My friends, they still mostly play hockey, but I don’t just see them at the rink. I live with them and have class with them, and have I told you about my boyfriend?”

Jack smirked.

“I’m glad, Bits, really glad,” he said. “I still don’t always know what I’m doing off the ice, but I guess I’ve gotten better at dealing with that.”

He stopped, bit his lip in thought, then continued. “But with us, will you do something for me? If I get it wrong, if I do something to hurt you, will you tell me? Don’t brush it off and think it doesn’t matter, because it does, and I never want to hurt you. Sometimes I might not be able to help it, but I want to be able to try, OK?”

Bitty was looking at him, considering. “OK,” he said. “But you have to tell me, too. No telling yourself you’re too sensitive and you shouldn’t let it bother you. If I do something thoughtless or overstep somewhere, help me understand.”

“OK, Bits,” Jack said. “Can I tell you what’s bothering me now?”

Bitty looked a little apprehensive, but nodded. “Of course.”

“You’re still wearing your shirt.”

Bitty snickered. “That all? I can take care of that.”

He did. “You too, Jack.”

Jack took his shirt off.

“Are you still wearing those shorts?” Jack asked. “Show me.”

Bitty moved the camera to show himself from the waist down, blue shorts starting to tent in the front.

“Will you take them off for me?” Jack asked. “Let me watch you? I wish I was there to take them off for you, but I can’t.”

Bitty didn’t say anything, just stood up with his back to the camera and slid the shorts down, leaving navy blue briefs in their place. He looked back over his shoulder, directly at the camera, directly at Jack. “Underwear too?”

Somehow Jack felt like he was losing control of the situation. He gulped and decided he didn’t mind.

“Yes, please,” he said.

This time, as Bitty pushed his underwear down his legs, he bent down, letting Jack get a clear, lingering view of his ass. _Calisse._ What Jack wouldn’t give to be there, to put his hands on either side and run his thumbs up the crack, over Bitty’s asshole. Would Bitty let him bury his face there?

But now Bitty was standing again, turning to face him, his dick nearly fully erect and jutting out from his groin. He stepped toward the desk and turned on a fan, adding a low hum to the room.

“We can do this a couple of ways,” Bitty said. “I can do what you tell me, or I can touch myself and get myself off while I tell you what I want you to do to me. There’s so much we did before that I want you to do again.”

“Tell me,” Jack said, rocking his hips enough to allow himself to shove his own shorts down his thighs.

Bitty started to step towards the bed, and Jack said, “Could you stand there? So I can see all of you? You don’t have to --”

“‘Course I can, love,” Bitty said, taking a step back so the camera caught him from face to knees. “Actually, I want to know what it’s like to stand up and have you kissing me, my mouth, my neck. I want to know what it’s like to have you work your way down my body.”

As Bitty spoke, his hands started moving over himself. He paused to suck on the first two fingers of his right hand, and used them to punch and roll each of his nipples in turn, making them stand out, hard little nubs in a dusky pinkish brown. 

His hands continued down his body, fingers stroking and then ruffling the hair that led down from his navel.

“Would you touch me here?” Bitty said. “Kiss me here? You’d have to get on your knees to do it. Would you do that for me?”

Bitty had one hand wrapped around the base of his dick, the other cupping his balls, and his eyes were right on the camera. Right on Jack. “‘Cause I’d do it for you if you wanted.”

“Yes,” Jack groaned, and started stroking himself in earnest.

Bitty also started to give his dick long pulls. “You don’t know how good it feels when you do this to me,” he said. “Did you know you changed the way I jerk off? Now I add a little twist at the end -- like so -- because that’s what you did, and it felt so good. But nothing is better than when you use your mouth. It’s so hot, Jack, you must have a furnace inside you, and so wet and the things you do with your tongue, and when you look up at me while you’re doing it …”

Bitty’s hand was going faster and faster, and he was leaning against the desk, no longer able to keep his balance on his own.

“I’m imagining you on your knees in front of me, looking up, seeing my dick slide into your mouth,” Bitty said. “God, Jack, you’re always gorgeous, but that …”

Bitty’s breath hitched and he came with a low moan, spurting over his hand. Jack was still pulling at his dick, his breath coming fast and hard, and Bitty wiped his hand on his own belly. 

“Tell me what you want, Jack,” Bitty said.

“Turn around,” Jack said. “Let me see that sweet little ass again. When you took your underwear off, I was looking. I wanted to spread you open with my hands and put my face there and see if you like my mouth there too.”

Bitty had turned around and bent over a bit, looking over his shoulder at Jack.

“You mean like this?” he said, and took his hand, fingers still wet with come, and trailed them up and down his crack, teasing at the hole but not pushing in.

“Oh, God, just like that!” Jack said. “ _Crisse,_ Bitty!”

Bitty watched Jack go rigid and then relax.

“Thanks, Bits,” he said.

“I think I should be thanking you,” Bitty said. “Going and putting ideas in my head. You know you don’t have to, right?”

“There is nothing we talked about tonight that I wouldn’t do with you gladly,” Jack said. “Believe me, I have plenty of ideas. Two days.”

“Two days,” Bitty said. “I’m gonna say goodnight because I need a shower before bed. I love you.”

“Love you too,” Jack said. “Think of me in the shower? I know I’ll be thinking of you.”

******************

Friday, July 31: Bitty

The last day of hockey camp went both way too fast and way too slow. Bitty brought in the maple hockey stick cookies he made for Jack last winter, and a certificate congratulating each player on some aspect of their game.

At lunch, he did a quick three miles on the treadmill then dragged a bucket of pucks to center ice, setting up and taking shot after shot. When he saw Sam standing at the glass, he skated over and beckoned him in. 

“Come and pass some to me,” Bitty said. “I want to shoot some one-timers.”

Sam obliged, and by the time Bitty was pulling the pucks from the net and putting them back in the bucket, all the kids were crowded into the team benches for a better view.

Bitty thought about telling himself he’d only wanted to get an on-ice workout, he wasn't really showing off, but he knew he'd be lying. He was enjoying being the best player out there. At Samwell, even when he was in high school, he'd been the fastest, but he never had the strongest shot. Even now, his shots were nothing compared to Jack’s, or even Holster’s. 

He skated the bucket back towards the benches as Seth stepped out on the ice and, “So, shooting drills?”

When camp was over, he headed straight home to start clearing out his room for real. He added the clean laundry Mama had left on his bed to his duffle bag and tossed in the books he wanted to take back and the gifts from his market friends. He made sure his hockey equipment was spread on the airing rack in the garage; he'd pack that in the morning.

Even with a break for dinner with his parents, by nine o’clock everything was packed except his laptop and toothbrush, and he was thanking his lucky stars again that he lived in the Haus and could leave most of his things there over the summer. 

When he called Jack, he was surprised that he wasn't just a bit tongue-tied, given the way they'd ended their call the night before. But he wasn't embarrassed at all, he found. He knew that Jack liked to watch him, liked to listen to him when they did sexual things together -- in person or over a Skype connection. Bitty loved seeing Jack too, but truth be told, he was just as aroused by knowing that Jack liked looking at him. It worked out well, he thought.

“So how was the last day of hockey camp?” Jack was asking.

“It was fine,” Bitty said. “No one took a stick to the teeth like Noah did last session, so that was good.”

“Stick to the teeth? But they were wearing cages when I was there,” Jack said.

“Oh, it wasn't on the ice,” Bitty said. “A few of them were playing ball hockey with a tennis ball in the hallway while they were waiting for the others to get dressed to go outside at lunch, and Luke swung his stick up to get the ball and hit Noah right in the mouth. Karla figured it was lucky they were brothers, because it broke Noah’s front tooth right off, and with them being in the same family, no one was blaming her.”

“I guess so,” Jack said. “Were they able to fix the tooth at least?” 

“Oh, yeah, the nerve wasn't damaged and the dentist basically just molded the stuff they use for fillings into the shape they needed to look like nothing happened. He might have to have a crown when he's older, though.”

“When he stops playing hockey, you mean?” Jack asked.

“Something like that,” Bitty said. “Maybe contact sports in general?”

“With a brother like that … “ Jack said.

“... that might be never,” Bitty completed.

“Will you still love me if my teeth get knocked out?” Jack chirped.

“Hush, you,” Bitty said. “That's not gonna happen. You're not a fighter.”

“Still might,” Jack said. “I could take a puck to the mouth or something. It's been known to happen.”

“Yes, but I can't do anything about it, so I'm not gonna worry over it now,” Bitty said. “As long you get some nice teeth to replace them, I’ll be fine.”

“Sounds fair,” Jack said.

“You're still gonna have them all when I see you tomorrow, won't you?” Bitty asked.

“Can't see why not,” Jack said. “I might skate in the morning with Tater and Poots, but just a light workout. No pads. I’ll have plenty of time to make it to Logan by 2:50.”

“You probably don't need to be there until a little after three,” Bitty said. “I'll have to get through the terminal and get my bags. I’ll text you when I have them, and you can just pull up outside and I'll hop in.”

“No, I'm coming in to meet you,” Jack said.

“You don't need to do that,” Bitty said. “This isn't me waiting around the Atlanta airport. This is you in Boston. Someone might recognize you.”

“So?” Jack said. “I'm meeting my friend at the airport, and he has a lot of stuff to carry, so I'm helping. Look, I know I can't kiss you in public, but I'm meeting my boyfriend to take him home for the first time. Of course I'll come in to meet you.”

“You're sure?” Bitty said. “People might talk.”

“People have been talking about me my whole life, Bits,” Jack said. “As long as we don't give them actual confirmation, let them talk. I can take it.”


	5. Aug. 1-6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Bitty have fun together, and also start to understand what keeping their secret means. Also, Bitty has something of a sassy mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is quite a bit of NSFW material throughout this chapter. What can I say? That's what they seemed to want once they had the chance to spend some time together.  
> This is long and my computer was acting up, so please let me know if you see any mistakes!

Saturday, Aug. 1: Jack

Jack finished dressing and checked his phone before sliding it into his pocket and slipping out of the locker room.

The text from Bitty said, _On the plane. Be there in a couple of hours. Can’t wait to see you._

Jack smiled before locking the screen.

“Jack, Poots and I are going to hang at my place, maybe have a beer and watch a ball game,” Tater said. “Do you want to come?”

“Maybe some other time? I have to pick up a friend at the airport,” Jack said, still smiling.

“A friend?” Tater raised his eyebrows suggestively. “When do we meet her?”

“Not that kind of friend,” Jack said, rolling his eyes to give it emphasis. “The friend I’m picking up is my former teammate, Eric Bittle, who has to be at school in Massachusetts in a week and wanted to get out of Madison, Georgia, a few days early.”

“Bittle? From Georgia?” Poots said. “Isn’t that the one you went to see over the Fourth?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “And after his parents made me so welcome, I figured the least I could do was give him a ride from the airport and let him crash for a few days. He’s one of the nicest guys you could ever meet.”

“I still want to know who texted you to make you smile like that,” Tater said. “That wasn’t a teammate-who-I-owe-favor smile.”

“And you know that how?” Jack said, pointedly.

“Never mind that,” Poots said. “This poor guy is trying to get out of small-town Georgia, and he’s visiting Grandpa Jack, who never leaves his house unless it involves some kind of conditioning. Want us to take him out, show him the town? I bet we could find him a nice girl, or at least one who’s willing to be nice for a night.”

Jack hoped the wince he felt didn’t show on his face.

“Wrong tree, Poots,” Jack said. “First, he’s not legal, and neither are you, and you know what Georgia would say if you take him to a club and there’s a problem. Second, he’s gay, so you’d have to find him a nice guy.”

Poots didn’t miss a beat. “In Providence? I think we could do that.”

“Nah, he’s really not the club type,” Jack said, then wondered, was Bitty the club type? Or would he be, given the opportunity? He liked all that pop music, and Jack knew he danced at Haus parties (Jack had seen him dance at Haus parties. Jack had seen him dance at Haus parties when he closed his eyes in his room with the door locked). But Bitty hardly ever went to other campus parties or joined other Samwell students in the forays into Boston looking for nightlife. 

“So what does he do?” Tater asked. 

“Seriously?” Jack said. “He plays hockey, sometimes he figure skates, he does Twitter and he bakes. Like, wants-to-be-a-professional-baker bakes. He made 17 pies in a month last September, and over the summer, he was making a few dozen a week to sell at a farmer’s market. He was also coaching hockey and skating camps, so I’m guessing he’s gonna collapse into bed and not get up for a day or two.”

At least that was what Jack was hoping for.

“Cool,” Poots was saying. “Still, if you wanna do something, maybe show him the town a little?”

“Maybe we can meet up tomorrow afternoon?” Jack said. “I’d say we could get dinner somewhere, but if I know Bittle, he’ll want to cook to make up for staying with me.”

“Whatever,” Poots said. “We still on for golf Monday?”

“Uh, no, actually,” Jack said. “It’s my birthday and my parents are in town that day. I’ll be around here Tuesday. I think Bittle and Tina will get along great.”

Then Jack was in his car, headed north to Logan. Then he was parking and and making his way to the terminal, heading down to baggage claim, identifying the carousels that Southwest used.

His phone chimed. Bitty.

_Just landed. It’s gonna take a few minutes. There’s a family in front of me with 1 year old twins, and they have a lot to handle._

Jack responded, _Sorry if it was a rough flight._

 _No, no, no,_ Bitty replied. _They only cried a little at takeoff and landing. They are so adorable!_

Jack wondered if Bitty wanted kids of his own someday. Even after weeks of talking every day, after a year of living across the hall, two years of being teammates, there was still so much Jack didn’t know.

Then Bitty was crossing the baggage claim area toward him, eyes shining and skin all rose gold like Jack remembered from the weekend he spent in Madison. Bitty walked right up, gave him a firm but brief hug and stepped back, no doubt about to say something about his luggage.

Before he could, Jack blurted, “Do you want kids?”

Bitty looked confused.

“Not right now, I mean, but someday?” Jack pressed on.

The smile that had disappeared from Bitty’s face returned, maybe not quite as wide, and he said, “I kind of assumed that, unless there was something big you weren’t telling me. Um, let me see. Yes, I think I’d like to have kids someday, but they wouldn’t have to be my biological children, and I don’t think I’d be heartbroken if it never happened. But I like kids, and with the right guy, I would like to have a family. What about you?’

Jack breathed again and said, “Me too. All of it.”

“Well, then, good to know we’re on the same page at least,” Bitty said. 

“Do you like to go dancing in clubs?” Jack asked.

“If this is you asking me on a date, I’d have to say that wouldn’t be a very good way of keeping this private,” Bitty said. 

“Not with me,” Jack clarified. 

“Well, I don’t want to go on a date with anyone else,” Bitty said quietly, no longer smiling at all, “seeing as you’re my boyfriend and all. Or at least I thought so?”

 _Calisse d’osti,_ Jack thought, and reached out to hug Bitty again. “Of course I am,” he whispered. “Of course I am. I love you, and I’m an idiot.”

“Oh-kay,” Bitty said. “Well, here’s my hockey bag, and my sticks, and my duffel, so let’s grab them and go where we can talk.”

They put the bags in the back of Jack’s car and climbed in. Bitty leaned over the console to meet Jack in a soft kiss after glancing around the parking garage to make sure no one was watching. Jack brought his hand up to the side of Bitty’s face, caressing his jaw with his thumb. “God, Bitty, I missed you,” he said.

“You too, Jack,” Bitty said and settled back into his seat. “So can you tell me what led to the 20 questions?’

“It wasn’t 20,” Jack said. “It was two.”

“Still,” Bitty said.

“I just, I just was thinking when I was waiting for you, there’s so many things about you I don’t know,” Jack said. “And when you texted about the babies in front of you, I realized we’d never talked about that, and I wanted to know.”

“So you weren’t asking if I maybe wanted to raise kids with you?” Bitty asked. “Because if I misinterpreted …”

“No, no,” Jack said. “You didn’t misinterpret at all. I was thinking the same thing, but I didn’t want to push you.”

Jack reversed out of the spot and started driving in circles down the ramp. Bitty waited until he’d inserted the payment card at the end and pulled onto the airport ring. “And the dancing thing?”

“I told Poots and Tater that you were coming -- just as my friend, to get out of Georgia a few days earlier -- and they were chirping me for being such a grandpa, and saying that if you wanted, they could take you out and show you a good time, find you a girl and everything.”

“Oh my God,” Bitty said. “Are they channeling Ransom and Holster? What did you say?”

“Well, I told them you’d prefer a guy, and I thought you’d be pretty wiped out, and want to hit the sack early tonight,” Jack said.

“Wait -- you told them I was gay?” Bitty said.

“Was I not supposed to?” Jack said. “Because I think people will figure it out. I know Tina follows your Twitter. I thought maybe if I said it like it was no big deal, they’d … not make a big deal of it.”

“No, it’s fine,” Bitty said. “You’re right -- I’m out to the world online, and to everyone at school. Did they take it OK? You having a gay friend that was coming to stay with you?”

“They were fine,” Jack said. “They offered to take you out and find you a guy. That’s when I said you’d probably want to go to bed early, but maybe we can meet up with them tomorrow.”

“I do very much want to go to bed early, as long as it’s with you,” Bitty smirked.

“But anyway, I realized that I didn’t know if you would like to go out dancing, even if we weren’t dating,” Jack said. “You like to dance at Haus parties, but you never went out anywhere else, and I didn’t know why. And if that’s something you want to do, you should be able to do it. Even if it’s not with me.”

Bitty was silent as Jack merged from I-90 to I-93.

“I do like dancing,” Bitty said. “And it’s fun to do it at the Haus, with Lardo and Shitty or Ransom and Holster. I know they’ll look out for me.”

Bitty shrugged.

“It’s not like I ever got a chance to dance like that at home,” he said. “Then when I got to Samwell, I went to a couple of parties in my residence hall, and it was so much fun at first. But then when I started to dance, there would be guys all over me.”

“Like, trying to …”

“They were just dancing, Jack,” Bitty said. “But I wasn’t used to having people I didn’t know touch me like that, and it made me uncomfortable. At the Haus, I know it’s OK, that if I don’t want someone touching me, I can walk away, and if they follow me, I can say no, and people will have my back.”

Jack concentrated on the road for a few moments, before he said, “So no clubbing then?”

“Nope,” Bitty said. “Although I’ll gladly dance with you.”

They drove the rest of the way with their fingers intertwined.

Jack pulled into his garage space, opened the door, and led Bitty to the elevator. “I hope you like it,” Jack said. 

“I’m sure I will,” Bitty said.

Jack led the way into the living room. Bitty dropped his carry-on and frankly gaped.

“You have so much space!” he said, and he walked towards the kitchen. “Sub-Zero, Jack?”

“It came with the condo,” Jack said.

“That Kitchen-Aid stand mixer didn’t,” Bitty said. “That blue is my favorite one!”

“And look at this,” Jack said, opening a cabinet and pulling open a drawer inside.There was marble rolling pin and two ceramic pie plates.

“I asked Maman to tell me everything I needed so you could make pies here,” Jack said. “If she forgot anything, we can get it. There’s flour, butter, spatulas, sugar, mixing bowls, wooden spoons, you name it.”

“And I see the bowl of apples there,” Bitty said. “I’m guessing there’s maple syrup?”

“And maple sugar. I wasn’t sure which you’d needed.”

“Right now,” Bitty said, wrapping his arms around Jack and looking up with pink cheeks and wide eyes, “I need you. I can bake later.”

Jack bent down and kissed him. Then he kissed him again, and Bitty reached up and kissed Jack and licked into his mouth. 

“Can you show me the bedroom, Mr. Zimmermann?” Bitty breathed. 

“I can show you more than that,” Jack said, taking Bitty by the hand.

He pulled him into the bedroom and closed the door, gently nudging Bitty up against it.

“Can I do what we talked about?” he asked. 

“Which part?” Bitty asked. “Never mind. Yes.”

“I want to take your clothes off right here, and I want to kiss you and touch you and then suck you off,” Jack clarified. “But if it’s too much, or you don’t like it, you tell me, and I’ll stop.”

“Yes,” Bitty said again. 

Jack started by unbuttoning Bitty’s shirt and pushing it off his shoulders. When he reached for the button of Bitty’s shorts, Bitty grabbed the hem of Jack’s T-shirt and said, “This first.”

Jack pulled the shirt over his head dropped it on the floor before helping Bitty out of his shorts and underwear and shoes and socks.

He stood back up and just breathed Bitty in, nose in the short hair behind Bitty’s ear as he let his hands stroke up and down Bitty’s sides and back, coming to rest on Bitty’s bottom and pulling him closer. Bitty rested his hands on Jack's waist, turning his head to kiss at Jack’s ear and head -- wherever he could reach.

“Just, let me?” Jack breathed into Bitty's ear, and then started a slow exploration down his body. Jack tasted salt in the hollow of Bitty’s throat, smelled the slight citrus scent of his soap, felt the callused pads of his fingers as he trailed them up to Jack’s shoulders.

When Jack was resting on his knees, his thumbs rubbing slow circles at Bitty’s hip bones -- and _Crisse,_ how was his skin so soft? -- he looked up to see Bitty’s chest heaving as he panted, the pink flush spreading down and Bitty’s wide brown eyes looking right at him.

Jack grinned, kissed Bitty’s dick, and proceeded to lick at the crease of his thigh and the softness of his balls, his nose bumping Bitty’s erection. Bitty whimpered and said, “Keep that up and I'm gonna come before you get to sucking on me.”

“Can't have that,” Jack said, and took Bitty in his mouth.

Bitty sank to the floor with a groan when he was done, curling into Jack’s side. Jack had his shorts open and was palming himself through his underwear, but Bitty pushed his hand away and pulled Jack’s cock free, before leaning over and starting to suckle at it with no warning. It didn't take long.

After, Bitty pulled himself up to sit in Jack’s lap and kiss him. 

“I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I thank my lucky stars that I did,” Bitty said. “Can we clean up and take a nap in that big bed we haven’t touched yet?”

“Absolutely,” Jack said. “And we’re ordering in for dinner. Kebab and Curry delivers.”

“Then I’ll make that pie,” Bitty said. “And we can go back to bed.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Jack said.

******************************************************

Sunday, Aug. 2: Bitty

By the time Bitty and Jack left his condo, Jack was questioning whether they had left the realm of breakfast and were really going to get lunch.

“Hush, you,” Bitty said. “You can call it whatever you want as long as there’s coffee.”

“Bits, do you think I don't know you at all?” Jack said.

Bitty snorted and said, “Oh, I think you you know me very well. In every sense of the word.” He was delighted to see the color rise on Jack's cheeks.

For his part, Bitty didn't want to forget a moment of the previous, oh, 20 hours. After the way Jack had caressed and kissed him before one of the most spectacular blow jobs he’d ever had (who was he kidding? He’d had few enough that they were all among the most spectacular. But that one was definitely going to stay on that list, Bitty thought), there had been mutual hand jobs in the shower, snuggling up in bed, sharing Indian food, baking a maple-apple pie together, going back to bed.

They had held and kissed and rubbed and rocked together, reaching their orgasms within minutes of each other. They'd cleaned up and drifted to sleep in each other's arms. Bitty had awakened in the middle of the night to find Jack sprawled over him and just settled himself deeper in the heavenly mattress.

Bitty woke next to find Jack watching him in the early morning light, looking amazed that Bitty was actually there, in his bed. He'd pulled Bitty in close, Bitty’s back to Jack's front, and reached around to hold Bitty’s erection. Bitty had dimly registered that Jack must have been up for a little while at least, because he'd snagged a small bottle of lube and applied it to his fingers, making the long slow pulls on his dick silky smooth.

When Bitty had ground his ass back into Jack’s groin, he felt Jack's erection pressing in between his cheeks and heard Jack moan.

“Is this OK?” Jack asked.

“Mm mm,” Bitty mumbled. “Feels wonderful.”

“OK,” Jack said. “Just a sec.” 

He rolled away for a moment and when he came back, his cock was slick enough to slide up and down Bitty’s crack in time with Jack’s strokes on Bitty’s dick. 

Jack kept the pace slow and Bitty felt like he was floating in a haze of arousal until he began to feel a desperate need in his lower belly. His hips moved back as Jack's moved forward, driving the rhythm faster until he was coming over Jack's hand. Jack wiped the mess on the sheet and gripped Bitty by the hips and rutted against his ass until he came, spurting on Bitty’s back. 

Bitty fell back asleep and when he woke again the sun was high in the sky and Jack was setting a cup of coffee on the table next to him, clearly just back from a run.

“If we want to eat before we meet Poots and Tater, you should probably wake up,” Jack said. “Uh, we both should probably shower, so …”

“Together?” Bitty suggested.

It was in the shower that Jack noticed the fingerprint-shaped bruises on Bitty’s hips and started apologizing.

“I didn't mean to hurt you, Bitty,” Jack said. “You should have told me. I’ll be more careful.”

“Don’t you dare,” Bitty said. “I'll tell you if I need you to stop, but believe me, I was feeling no pain when I got those. I've had a lot worse bruises that I had a lot less fun getting, including from checking practice.”

“All right,” Jack grinned sheepishly. “But I don't like the idea of hurting you --”

“You really didn't,” Bitty interrupted. 

“-- and we do have to be more careful in hockey season so the guys don't notice anything in the locker room.”

Now they walked up Water Street, not holding hands but close enough that their shoulders and arms brushed.

The sign outside the cafe where Jack stopped said Clean Plate, and Bitty sniffed appreciatively when the aroma of coffee hit his nose. The menu, for all it was after noon, featured breakfast and lunch dishes. Bitty’s eyebrows rose as he scanned the page.

“Wait, you found a place three blocks from your condo that serves grits? I mean, no one in Madison would put lavender in them, but still,” Bitty said. “I think I have to have the chicken and waffles, though. My hockey captain always said I should eat more protein.”

After they ate, they wandered north along the river, Jack showing Bitty places he liked, Bitty remarking on shops and restaurants he’d like to visit sometime. Jack said they were going to meet Poots and Tater at Water Place Park, where they did Waterfire on Saturday nights.

“I guess we could have come last night,” Jack said. “But I figured you’d be tired.”

“Yeah, no,” Bitty said. “I really didn’t want to go anywhere.”

“Anyway, the park is still a popular place to come during the day,” Jack said. “There are artists and people performing and places we can stop for a drink. Since Poots and Tater said I absolutely couldn’t take you to any kind of history museum, it seemed like a good place to meet.”

“Why do I feel like I’m meeting the parents?” Bitty said.

Jack laughed and said, “I don’t know. Especially since you’ve already met my parents and they love you.”

“Likewise, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty said.

Jack looked up and caught sight of one of the biggest men Bitty had ever seen, standing next to a good-looking guy who only looked small in comparison. “There they are,” Jack said. “Let’s go say hi.”

It was disconcerting, to say the least, to have Jack switch to calling him “Bittle” as soon as they joined his teammates, and to have Alexei -- Tater -- try to pump him for information about Jack’s supposed girlfriend.

“Look, you’re red,” Tater said. “You know something. You’re keeping Jack’s secret, aren’t you? Come on. We just want to make sure she’s good enough for him.”

Bitty had shaken his head and stammered, “We Samwell hockey players have each other’s backs, guys,” Bitty said. “Don’t ask me to break confidences.”

Poots tried to get Bitty to tell stories from Jack’s college days, and seemed a little disappointed, if not surprised, that Jack was more or less the same: dedicated, hard working, a little quiet, but a good guy.

“He really kind of took me under his wing,” Bitty said. “When I got there, I had this mental block about being checked, and he worked with me for months.”

“Actually, I seem to recall being kind of a dick to you,” Jack said, like he couldn’t let Bitty’s praise go unchallenged.

“Did I mention he’s way too hard on himself?” Bitty said to Jack’s new teammates. “I know I wasn’t someone he expected to have to play with, but he did, and he made me better, and then we got to be friends.”

After a couple of hours, Bitty and Jack headed back to the condo, stopping at the supermarket on the way. 

“You want a birthday pie or a cake?” Bitty asked. 

“Um, I’m guessing the right answer is pie?” Jack said. “But you already made the maple-apple. Blueberry? They’re in season here now.”

“Sure thing,” Bitty said, picking out a couple of containers of blueberries to add to the fish and vegetables he’d already picked out.

“I meant what I said before,” Jack said. “I was kind of an asshole to you. I don’t know why you gave me a second chance.”

“Because you gave me a second chance, and a third, and more after that,” Bitty said. “Doesn’t hurt that you’re gorgeous.”

They bought their groceries and were headed out the door.

“So which is it, by the way?” Bitty asked.

“Which is what?”

“Were you and asshole, or a dick? ‘Cause it seems to me they have different roles to play.”

***************************************************

Monday, Aug. 3: Jack

Jack woke up on his 26th birthday to sunny skies and Bitty in his bed. He was pretty sure that alone made it the best birthday of his life.

He bent to press a soft kiss to the top of Bitty’s head, then tried to roll gently away so as not to wake him. It didn't work.

By the time Jack’s feet hit the floor, Bitty was pushing up on his elbow, eyes screwed up and hair askew.

“Where’re you going?” he asked.

“Shh, go back to sleep,” Jack told him. “It's early. I'm just going for a run. I'll wake you when I get back.”

“No, I'm coming with,” Bitty said, sitting up now. “It's your birthday.”

“It's really OK,” Jack said. “You were worn out when you got here. Rest.”

“And you've been wearing me out since I came?” Bitty managed to combine a yawn and a snicker. “Nah, I'm fine. I’ve got to keep my training up too, y’know. Give me five minutes to get dressed.”

Pounding along the pavement, Jack acknowledged to himself that he had missed this, having Bitty keep pace next to him, occasionally chirping, pointing out the geese on the river (“Did they follow you here?”), shining like another sun. Jack didn't have to worry about going too fast or too far; he knew what Bitty could do as well as he knew himself. And truth be told, his morning run would be easy for his former teammate. Whatever issues Jack had ever had with Bitty as a hockey player, poor conditioning had never been among them.

Bitty seemed to think so, too, throwing a grin at Jack and challenging, “Race you!” when they were three blocks from Jack's building on the return leg. 

Bitty sprinted ahead, making Jack work to catch up, then eased up slightly in the last half-block. Jack touched the door a second or two ahead of Bitty.

He turned, panting, and raised his eyebrows. “Letting me win?”

Bitty laughed and said, “What else can I get for the man who has everything? Unless you'd prefer sexual favors?”

“Well, if you'd given me the option …” 

By the time they got into Jack's unit they were pushing and pulling one another towards the master bathroom, trying to tug clothing off as they went. 

Jack thought the whole process was horribly inefficient, but as he listened to Bitty giggle, he decided he didn't care. A few minutes later, he decided he liked shower sex, at least if it wasn't anything too acrobatic. Having Bitty blow him while the warm water cascaded down his back? Yeah, that was good. 

Bitty made them a veggie omelet and whole wheat toast, then they lounged on the couch, Bitty dozing while Jack watched more of “The World at War.”

After a while, Bitty squirmed against Jack's chest and looked up at him.

“What time did you say your parents were coming?”

“They should be here around lunchtime,” Jack said. “We've still got time.”

“I feel like I should start making something,” Bitty said.

“What?” Jack asked. “You made the pie last night. And my parents -- being parents -- will arrive with groceries, including probably stuff to make sandwiches for lunch. You really don't have to cook all the time.”

“I know, but it helps with the nerves. Maybe I could make some things for the freezer?”

“In that case, go ahead,” Jack said. “But you don't have to. And you don't have to be nervous, either.”

By the time his mother texted to say they were pulling up, Bitty had assembled a lasagna, then cut it into single hockey-player sized portions for freezing, added different seasonings to six chicken breasts, labeled them with what the seasonings were, cooking instructions and possible side dishes and put them in the freezer, and made a batch of gazpacho.

Jack pressed the buzzer for the outside door and then went to meet his parents at the elevator, taking one of the bags of groceries his mother was carrying as soon as the door opened.

Bitty hung back near the open door of Jack’s condo as Jack greeted his parents.

“Maman! Papa! It’s good to see you! How was the trip?”

“Happy birthday, Jack! You look really well.” Jack’s mother was giving him the kind of once-over he was pretty sure was common to mothers everywhere.

“Jack! Happy birthday! I thought you said Eric would be here?”

“He is, Papa,” Jack assured his father as they moved towards his condo. “Right here.”

As they stepped through the door, Bitty draped the towel he was using to dry his hands over his shoulder and took the other bag of groceries from Jack’s mother.

“Mrs. Zimmermann, let me take that,” he said, leading the way into the kitchen. 

Jack’s parents seated themselves on the stools at the counter while Jack and Bitty set the bags down. Jack started unpacking and Bitty took each item and either put it away or set it aside to make lunch.

There were baguettes and ham and turkey, provolone and cheddar, roasted red peppers and tomatoes and lettuce and cucumbers, along with a vinaigrette dressing and spicy mustard.

As soon as the bags had been tidied away, Bitty said. “Sandwiches will go great with the gazpacho I just made. Jack, why don’t you cut the bread while I slice this cucumber and tomato?”

Bitty might have been too focused on the food to notice the increasingly incredulous and delighted looks Jack’s parents were exchanging as Bitty had clearly made himself at home in Jack’s kitchen, but Jack wasn’t. He blushed a bit when his mother caught his eye and turned his attention back to the bread in front of him.

They sat down to their sandwiches and cold soup at Jack’s table, set with the cloth napkins and placemats his mother had made him buy.

“So how do you think the team will look this season?” Jack’s dad said.

“Well, I think we’ve got a decent core, but I won’t really be able to tell until more of the guys get back into town,” Jack said.

“Not your team, son. I was talking to Eric,” his dad said.

“Oh, um, I think we’ll do all right,” Eric said. “I mean, we lost Jack, obviously, so probably not as good as last year, but Chowder has a year of experience under his belt, and we have two really solid defense pairs. I guess we’ll have to see the new tadpoles.”

“That’s always a challenge with a college team,” Bad Bob said. “The turnover every year. But don’t sell your team short; you boys have some of the best chemistry on the ice I’ve ever seen.”

“Have you seen much of Providence since you’ve been here?” Jack’s mother asked, almost making Jack blush again. Was she implying that they’d been too busy indoors? “I know you just got in Saturday, and you must have been exhausted after the summer you had.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bitty said. “I mean, I was pretty busy all summer, but we walked around for a while with Alexei Mashkov and -- what’s Poots’ real name? -- yesterday. It seems like a comfortable kind of city. Lots of coffee shops.”

“You don’t have to call me ‘ma’am,’ Eric,” Jack’s mother was saying. “Call me Alicia.”

“Yes, ma’am. Alicia,” Bitty said.

Jack looked at his soup and giggled.

“So, Jack, it’s your birthday. What do you want to do this afternoon?” his mother asked. She winked at Bitty. “We could always go shopping to get you some new clothes.”

“Maman,” Jack said. “The historical society has a walking tour I’d like to do, and we could go to the John Brown Museum. There are some nice gardens there, too.”

“Oh, all right,” his mother said. “Your birthday, your choice.”

Jack brought his camera and got lots of pictures, of his parents, of his parents with Bitty, of Bitty when he wasn’t looking. Bitty, despite not being anywhere near as interested in history as Jack, looked happy, Jack decided. As the afternoon wore on, Bitty got more comfortable with his parents, and all three of them chirped Jack about being a history nerd. Jack found he loved it. 

They had dinner at Hemenway’s, a Providence institution, with Jack, Bitty and Alicia choosing grilled fish. Jack’s father shocked Bitty by choosing the lobster mac and cheese.

“Wow,” Bitty said. “Jack, you gonna tell your dad to eat more protein?”

“Oh, I’m allowed, Eric,” his dad said. “Benefits of retirement and all.”

They skipped dinner at the restaurant to go back to Jack’s condo for birthday pie, and Bitty stopped downstairs at Jack's car to rummage in his duffel bag for a square package.

“Bitty, you really shouldn’t have gotten me anything,” Jack said.

“It’s not much,” Bitty said. “But I thought you might like it.”

“Can I open it in front of my parents?” Jack asked.

“Yes, Jack, of course,” Bitty said.

It turned out to be a photo album from their summer, starting with a photo of Jack and Shitty and Bitty from graduation. It included some of the Providence photos Jack had sent Bitty, and pictures of Bitty and his campers. The last section was from Jack’s trip to Madison. The final photo was of the two of them, a selfie Bitty had insisted on at the lake. Both were sun-kissed and grinning at the camera.

“Ooh, I’d like a copy of that,” Alicia said. “I don’t know when I’ve ever seen you look more relaxed in front of a camera.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bitty said. “If you give me your email address, I can send it to you.”

“What’s your number?” she asked. “I’ll send you our contact information.”

His parents’ gift was a heavy, square box. He opened to find a complete set of billiard balls, along with a printed out picture of a full-size pool table. 

“Oh, wow,” he said. “That’s really, um, big.”

“Well, it’s all paid for, so all you have to do is call the number on the card to arrange a time for them to deliver it and set it up,” his mother said. “If your teammates come over, it will give people something to do.”

“So you don’t have to worry so much about making conversation” went unsaid.

“So, Eric, do you play pool?” Jack’s father asked.

“I’ve only played a few times,” Eric said. “But I’m looking forward to it.”

After his parents left with promises to come back for breakfast, Bitty and Jack put the dishes in the dishwasher and Jack wrapped Bitty in his arms.

“Come on, Bits,” he said. “Let’s go to bed.”

Definitely his best birthday ever.

**********************************************

Tuesday, Aug. 4: Bitty

Bitty got up to run with Jack again, yawning and cracking an eye open when he felt Jack get oit of bed.

“”S too early,” he said, hearing the whiny tone in his voice but not caring enough to stop it.”

“You can sleep in if you want,” Jack said, leaning over to ruffle Bitty’s hair. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Bitty groaned.

“Who are you and what have you done with Jack Zimmermann?” he asked. “You can’t be the same person who woke me at 4 a.m. -- after a kegster, I might add -- for checking practice. With no prior warning.”

“Not your captain anymore, Bittle,” Jack said. “Seriously, if you need to rest …”

“Nah,” Bitty said. “We’ve gone to bed by 10:30 the last three nights. Even if we didn’t go to sleep right away … but I can catch a nap later if I need to.”

“I was going to bring you to the practice facility today,” Jack said. “I got us some ice time, then a workout, then a meeting with Tina, the social media person. George wants to meet you too. Then I have a skate with Guy and Martin and Tater and Poots in the afternoon. I can bring you home before that, or you can stay and watch. Sound OK?”

“This is your offseason, right?” Bitty asked, tying his shoes and standing up.

After a run and breakfast -- peanut butter on bagels and fruit and, blessedly, coffee, Jack drove them to the practice rink and escorted Bitty into the players’ locker room.

“You can leave your stuff here,” Jack said.

On the ice, they skated laps to warm up, then indulged in some friendly races.

Bitty won all of them, and Jack just laughed. “You always were the fastest,” he said.

“Can we do checking practice?” Bitty asked.

“Really?” Jack said. “I thought you hated that.”

“I do, kind of,” Bitty said. “But I haven’t been in a situation where I might be checked since last spring. I don’t want to go into practice cold and end up on the ice again. And it’s easier with you.”

“Of course I will,” Jack said. “You take the puck up the boards, and I’ll come from here. We’ll go slow at first.”

Bitty grinned. He knew that if it was Jack, he could do this. And if he could do it with Jack, then he could do it with Ransom and Holster. And if he could do it with them, he could do it in a game, against another team.

Not that it couldn’t get rough, but he knew it wasn’t personal. They weren’t trying to hurt him. It was a game, and they were trying to gain an advantage. His job was to not let them, either by skating through the hit while hanging onto the puck, or taking it easily enough to get right up and steal the puck back.

Jack skated into him from a variety of angles, hitting him at the shoulders, in the midsection, at the hips. Bitty worked to keep his balance, and, if he couldn’t, to recover quickly.

After 15 minutes or so, Jack said, “I think you’ve got this, Bitty.”

“What can I say?” Bitty chirped. “Guess I’m just not scared of you anymore.”

They moved to the weight room, where Bitty had to work not to stare at Jack. He might be able to beat him at a race, but good Lord was Jack strong. Jack could probably bench press not just Bitty but also the weight Bitty was lifting.

They showered in the locker room, staying carefully neutral towards each other, dressed and sat in the players’ lounge to eat the lunch Bitty packed.

“Ready to meet Tina?” Jack said, after Bitty had carefully rinsed their containers and repacked them.

“As I'll ever be,” Bitty said.

“Relax,” Jack said. “She already likes you. You know she's the one that had the Falcs’ accounts follow you on social media?”

“I know,” Bitty said. “I'm just afraid that once she meets me I'll be too … me … and she’ll think I'm bad for your image.” 

“You really don't have to worry, I don't think,” Jack said. “I'm pretty sure she thinks something happened between me and Parse, and she's wondering about Shitty.”

Bitty raised an eyebrow. “Shitty?”

“She may have seen that photo Lardo texted last week. You got it too, right?”

“Sure did. OK, lead on.”

As Jack predicted, the meeting went well, Bitty sitting in as Tina went over what happened last week (“You remembered to like the Happy Birthday tweet! Good job!”) and what Jack might post now. 

“Is it too soon for my parents again?” he asked, showing Tina a snap he had taken of Bad Bob looking at his lobster Mac and cheese with an expression that was almost indecent in its eagerness.

“It's a different kind of picture, so I think it'll work. In the caption you can thank people for sending birthday wishes.”

“Uh, people did?”

“Yes, Jack, they did.” She rolled her eyes at Bitty.

Then she and Bitty talked about the social media strategy with Jack (“We want to make his awkwardness seem endearing”) and ways to use newer apps to build the Falconers following at Samwell.

Halfway through, Bitty’s phone started vibrating every minute or two.

He checked it before silencing it.

“Ransom and Holster are in Niagara Falls,” he said to Jack. “They’ll be back at the Haus tomorrow. They want to know when everyone else will be there so they can start planning.”

“You can't start workouts or even team meetings until the 10th,” Jack said, his forehead knitting.

“Jack, this is why your teammates call you Grandpa,” Bitty chirped. “ _Ransom and Holster_ want to start _planning._ What do Ransom and Holster plan?”

“But they're captains now!”

Bitty shook his head. “According to you, not til the 10th.”

Tina burst out laughing, and even Jack tried to stifle a smile. “Fine. I’ve got to get changed for the skate.”

“Mind if I watch?” Bitty asked, just stopping before adding, “The skate, that is?”

“Sure,” Jack said. “It should start in about 15.”

“Sounds good. Tina, what's your favorite kind of pie?”

Bitty was leaning on the wall of the observation area scrolling through his phone when Georgia Martin appeared at his elbow. 

“I remember you,” she said. “You were looking at your phone last time I saw you too.”

“Just waiting for Jack,” Bitty said, sliding his phone into the back pocket of his jeans. 

“It’s all right,” Georgia said. “I just wanted to say hello to you. I try to make it a point to meet the people who are important to our players, make sure I can put a face to a name, that sort of thing. I’ve known Jack’s parents for some time, and I understand that most of his best friends are from Samwell.”

“Yeah, I think so,” Bitty said. “Maybe Shitty -- uh “

“Yes, I’ve heard about Shitty,” Georgia said.

“Well, he and Jack played together all four years, so maybe he would know --”

“Jack says they are close friends, but you’re the one he visited over the Fourth of July, and you’re the one visiting him now,” Georgia said. “I’d say you’re pretty important to him.”

Bitty gulped.

“He’s important to me, too,” he said. “I wouldn’t want to do anything that would make things harder on him.”

“No, I’m sure you don’t want that,” Georgia said. “And Tina tells me you’re pretty savvy with social media. You know how to present the message you want to get across.”

“Well, yes, ma’am,” Bitty said. He was frantically trying to remember every tweet that might have been just a little too revealing of his feelings for Jack. 

“Now, I need you to understand, what you want that message to be is entirely up to you, and if it involves Jack, it should be up to him, too,” she said.

“Of course,” Bitty agreed.

“So know what you want to say, and think about how it will be heard, before you say it,” she said. “And if anything happens where things get away from you, or you just want some advice about how something might be taken, feel free to call me or Tina. I know that people who follow you know who Jack is; I’d like to think that you can help us persuade them to be Jack Zimmermann fans. So anything we can do to help, name it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bitty said.

“And Eric?” Georgia said. “I heard about what happened with the young man and your pies. Good for you for standing up to him, and good for Jack for standing up for you.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Bitty said. “One question: What’s your favorite kind of pie?”

**************************************************

Wednesday, Aug. 5: Jack

Jack swung his bag into the back of his car, next to where Bitty’s hockey bag and big duffel still sat.

He had left Bitty in the kitchen, having helped wash the breakfast dishes (OK, he dried). He put the two pies -- one peach and one blueberry -- on the floor in front of the passenger seat and drove to work, which for him meant workouts, meetings and ice time. Bitty had packed him a lunch.

On one hand, Jack thought, he could get used to this: waking up to Bitty in his bed, running with him, eating breakfast at the kitchen counter, going off to work looking forward to coming home again.

On the other hand, he knew this wasn’t permanent. This was today. Tomorrow Bitty was going back to Samwell, back to his own responsibilities at school and to SMH. Jack knew how seriously he took that, and it was right that he should. Tomorrow night, Jack would drive back home to a condo that would be quiet and empty, no Bitty humming along to his pop music while he mixed and rolled and moved pans in and out of the oven.

That’s how Bitty had spent part of yesterday evening, producing two pies in what would have seemed to Jack an impossibly short time if he hadn’t seen it happen so many times at the Haus.

On the way home from the rink, Bitty had requested a stop at the market for ingredients, but then said, “Wait. I want to try these maple-glazed doughnuts tomorrow. I’m going to need a thermometer to fry them, and a Dutch oven. Is there a good kitchen store here? Let me see: Sur Le Table, that would do. No, wait, do you know where Hope Street is? There’s a local shop, Stock. Let’s try that.”

Bitty had been like -- Bitty in a cooking store. Jack insisted on paying for the Dutch oven (“It’s staying in my condo, isn’t it?”) but Bitty paid for the thermometer, saying that if he liked the way the doughnut recipe worked, he would make it again at the Haus.

Then they got home, Jack watched Bitty make the pies, helped Bitty make dinner, ate in front of the TV, and gone to bed. 

Jack had spent what felt like hours worshipping Bitty, touching and kissing him from his head to his feet. He discovered that Bitty did like it when he sucked his earlobe, that Bitty could not keep still if Jack sucked his toes, the way Bitty moaned when Jack sucked marks into the crease between his torso and thigh.

Jack had massaged Bitty’s back, moved down to his ass, spread him open and licked a stripe up the middle.

Bitty had yelped and bucked his hips before settling back on the bed. Jack pushed himself up a little and said, “OK?”

“Oh, yes, better than OK,” Bitty said. “I just didn’t know how that would feel.”

So Jack had gripped Bitty’s hips more tightly and applied himself to Bitty’s ass, licking and kissing and circling the hole before pushing at it with his tongue. He tasted sweet and musky and he panted and whimpered and writhed. Jack finally pulled back and said, “Roll over.”

When Bitty did, Jack said, “I want to finger you. I think you’ll like it, but you know you can say no or tell me to stop.”

“I know, I know,” Bitty said. “Jack, believe me, I’ll tell you if I don’t like something. But I’m pretty sure I’m going to like it too, so please, _please,_ just do it.”

Jack pushed Bitty’s legs up for better access and slipped a finger in just as he engulfed Bitty’s dick with his mouth.

“Oh, my God, Jack,” Bitty said. “Whatever you’re doing, don’t stop.”

Jack pumped his finger in and out while moving his mouth up and down Bitty’s shaft. Bitty’s words soon turned to moans, and it didn’t take long before he was tugging on Jack’s hair. Jack felt Bitty’s erection grow impossibly harder. He redoubled his efforts, and swallowed as Bitty came, spasming over and over.

Jack nearly came himself, listening to Bitty, seeing him, feeling his muscles clench around Jack’s finger, tasting him.

When Bitty went limp, Jack guided his legs back down and looked at his utterly debauched boyfriend.

Bitty was looking back with half-shut eyes.

“C’mere,” he said, tugging at Jack’s arms and shoulders until Jack was straddling his midsection. Bitty reached for his erection, now leaking onto Bitty’s abdomen, and said, “Together?” 

Jack put his hand on top of Bitty’s and they stroked together, until Jack came all over Bitty’s chest. He wished he had his camera and the confidence that he could keep a picture like that private. Instead, he took a mental snapshot, something to revisit when Bitty was at Samwell, before getting up for a warm washcloth.

They snuggled under the covers, Bitty’s head on Jack’s chest, and then Bitty looked up and said, “You know, you can fuck me if you want to.”

The look on his face, so open, so trusting, broke Jack’s heart and put it together again at the same time.

“I do want to,” Jack said. “But not until you want to. For you, not just for me. And that goes both ways. I’d like very much if you would fuck me.”

“Really?” Bitty said.

“Really.” 

This morning, there had been sleepy cuddles before they got up, hand jobs in the shower, sharing breakfast and cleanup. Jack had kissed Bitty goodbye and wished him luck with the doughnuts. 

“Are you going to record it for the vlog?” Jack asked.

“Not today,” Bitty said. “I never record the first time I try a recipe. But I do have a few vlog episodes to edit.”

“Dinner tonight? We can go out,” Jack said.

“That’s OK,” Bitty said. “I’ll go to the market and make dinner.”

“You don’t have to cook,” Jack said. 

“Oh, no, honey, it’s a treat to cook in this kitchen,” Bitty said.

Jack didn’t think Bitty was lying, exactly, but something made him uncomfortable.

He couldn’t put his finger on it until he had his weekly check-in with George.

“Did you get a chance to see Bittle yesterday?” he asked.

“Yes, we talked while he was waiting for you to skate yesterday,” George said. “He’s a very astute young man.”

“Yes,” Jack said. “He is. What did you talk about?”

“Social media, mostly, and how to make sure you control your message,” George said. “He cares a great deal about you.”

“Yes,” Jack said. “Yes, he does. And I care about him. Just so we’re clear.”

“I think we’re all clear,” George said.

“Then you didn’t tell him not to be seen in public with me?” he said.

George looked surprised.

“No, of course not,” she said. “I mean, if you act like boyfriends -- like holding hands or kissing -- then people will conclude you’re dating. But just hanging out or grabbing dinner? No worries."

As soon as he left her office, Jack pulled out his phone to text Bitty. 

_Please let me take you to dinner. George says it’s ok._

*****************************************

Thursday, Aug. 6

Bitty woke determined to make the most of today. If it was the last day he got to see Jack until -- when, exactly? Could he manage a trip Labor Day weeked? -- he wanted to enjoy it, not spend every minute moaning because they would have to say goodbye this afternoon.

Jack seemed to have the same idea, because he didn’t jump out of bed for a morning run. Instead, when Bitty opened his eyes, Jack was lying next to him, watching. As soon as realized Bitty was awake, he pulled him closer. Bitty nuzzled into Jack’s chest, then started kissing at it sloppily, and Jack retaliated by kissing the top of Bitty’s head.

Before long, Jack had pulled Bitty completely on top of him, Bitty’s legs straddling Jack’s hips, Bitty’s face in the crook of Jack’s neck, their erections bumping together as they tried to find a rhythm that worked.

Bitty finally raised his head enough to spy the bottle of lube on Jack’s bedside table and he snagged it and flipped it open.

“Give me your hand,” Bitty said. He dribbled some lube onto Jack’s fingers and lifted his hips enough for Jack to get a hand between them and start stroking them both together. Bitty leaned up and kissed Jack’s neck, his jaw, the side of his face.

“You feel so good,” Bitty said. “You make me feel so good. S’wonderful.”

Their lovemaking was gentle this time, not slow and drawn out, but sweet and tender and sentimental. When it was over, Bitty got up and returned with a warm washcloth. 

“Still going for that run?” he asked.

Jack stretched and yawned and said, “Sure. If you’ll join me.”

When they got back, Bitty scrambled egg whites with spinach and little cheese, and added one of the maple-glazed doughnuts to Jack’s plate. “I know you can,” Bitty said. “You’ve got to eat thousands of calories a day to keep up with your level of activity. And I won’t be here to make you fresh doughnuts all the time.”

Jack, for once, didn’t argue. He ate the doughnut, then rinsed his dishes and kissed Bitty. “I’ve got to go the rink for a while, but I’ll be back by lunchtime to drive you up. We’re stopping in Boston to pick up Lardo, right?”

“That’s the plan.” Bitty said. “Most of her things are at the Haus. She’s been staying there on and off all summer. But she said she was staying with Shitty.”

“Shitty’s at the cape with his folks,” Jack said. “I don’t know why she stayed at his place while he was gone.”

Bitty knew, but didn’t feel it was his place to say. She stayed there because, whatever their relationship was, she was in love with him, and if she couldn’t be with him, she would choose to stay in his space, in rooms filled with his things, in a bed that smelled like him, just to remind herself that he existed and she wasn’t really alone.

“Well, she already knew I was visiting you, so that doesn’t matter,” Bitty said. “And if we both show up with you, it won’t seem as weird.”

“What’s weird about me picking my friends up and dropping you off at school?” Jack said. “I have a car, I have time. I told you what George said.”

Bitty shook his head. “What George was talking about was deniability. If people see us together too much, even if we never do anything like holding hands, they’ll talk, but we won’t have to address it,” Bitty said. “It’s different if it's our friends. I don’t want to have to outright lie to Ransom and Holster. It would be better if they didn’t think to ask the question.”

Jack smiled, maybe a little sadly, and said, “I really don’t think they will. They think they’re observant, but they’re really kind of oblivious.”

“I guess so,” Bitty said. “They were trying to set me up with a girl freshman year, when I’d shown interest in girls that way exactly, oh, never.”

“See?” Jack said. “It’ll be fine. It’s bad enough that I’m going to the rink today, but you’re right, it would look weird if I didn’t.”

Bitty used the time Jack was gone to pack his bag again. If he left some comfortable clothes, well, it would be less to bring with next time. Then he made more meals for Jack to eat later, and two more maple-crusted apple pies.

He and Jack ate a quick lunch and shared a long kiss before getting in the car and heading to Boston.

When they pulled up in front of Shitty’s apartment, Lardo swung herself into the seat behind Bitty, punching him lightly on the shoulder. “Bits,” she said, taking a look at his face when he glanced back. She looked sad as well.

“So, when we get to the Haus, maybe you could not bring up that I stayed with Jack?” Bitty said. “I don’t want to make anyone jealous.”

“Whatever you say, Bitty,” Lardo said. “Maybe you don’t need to say where I was?”

“My lips are sealed,” he said.

Jack, who had rearranged the bags in the back, slid back in and started the car.

“Ready to go?” he said.

“As we’ll ever be,” Bitty said.

Ransom and Holster were nowhere in sight when they pulled up. Lardo grabbed her bag and headed upstairs while Jack and Bitty unloaded his things. Jack carried one of his bags upstairs, and, checking that Lardo wasn’t in the hall, Bitty closed his door behind them.

“I guess this is it, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty said. He reached up and kissed Jack. “Oh, your shirt.”

Bitty started to take off Jack’s red plaid shirt that he’d tugged on when he realized how chilly the day was.

“You keep it,” Jack said. “Don’t worry. It’ll be all right. We’ll be all right. We’ll Skype every night, and we’ll text, and you can visit whenever you want. OK?”

And Bitty’s eyes might have been a little wet, but he definitely wasn’t crying when he smiled up at Jack and said, “I know. I love you.”

Jack kissed him one last time, and they opened the door and clattered down the stairs. They had just reached the bottom when the front door opened and Chowder stood there.

“Jack! S’wawsomeI I didn’t know you’d be here!”

“Just leaving, Chowder,” Jack said. “I gave Bittle and Lardo a ride from Boston, but I should head back to Providence. I’ll come visit soon. See you, Bittle.”

“See you, Jack.”

Bitty went upstairs to unpack. He opened his duffel to find a cardboard folder and a large padded envelope. A note was taped to the envelope.

“So you don’t forget what I look like.”

Bitty opened the folder first. It was a Falconer’s calendar, with Bitty’s school breaks already pencilled in.

Then he opened the envelope and found a plastic, Lego-style toy, wearing a number 15 Falconer’s jersey. Underneath it was a Falconer’s key ring, with two keys attached. Bitty had seen them enough to recognize them. The security door to Jack’s building and the door to his condo.

Bitty sat on his bed, the keys in one hand and the toy in the other, while a grin crept over his face. 

That boy. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the restaurants mentioned exist in Providence, and have gotten good Yelp reviews.
> 
> That's the end of this piece, but there will likely be at least a couple more short installments in the series, including Sam's visit to Samwell. Thanks so much for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/justlookfrightened)!


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